


Casey vs. the Way Back

by Skyesurfer12



Series: Redemption Series [3]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:32:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 247,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:  First, some people to thank. </p><p>I finally have figured out that I write because I have to, but the chance to share these stories with you takes the experience to the outer limits of joy.   The fact that readers stop by or let me know they’ve had fun on our travels has kept me posting these publicly, no matter how scary the exposure to the inner workings.  I want to send a shout out thanks and love to those of you who took the time to comment and have been with the boys and I on this long trek from the beginning. </p><p>Finally, there are no words to express my thanks to my beta reader and friend, asphaltcowgrrl.   She jumped on this crazy train five years ago and has been my rock of support for the long haul.  She listens to my rants, head banging, angst, and more importantly, shares laughs with me.  When I need a kick in the pants, she somehow finds the perfect article or blog to send along.  Our ‘conversations’ on fandoms, men – heh – Zach’s hair, MB, Common Law porn, Casey’s elusive emotions, political agendas, and just life in general, wrapped around our reflections on the craft of story-telling, are a gift.   As is she.</p><p>So, now what?</p><p>I'm gradually getting all of my work posted here on AO3.  I know some readers are leery of AUs, but I hope I've written one in a way to make you forget that and enjoy the boys being the boys.  I should start posting that in the next few weeks.</p><p>Thank you to everyone who read this!</p><p>-skye</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter One)

-x-

Before he had become a spy, he didn’t have quite the overstuffed toolbox of idiosyncrasies that he lugged around by now. 

Like this one. 

Out of habit, the first thing Casey did was check behind the shower curtain. The shower curtain, for chrissakes. The sleazy, bed-bug ridden motels, the flophouses… they were all the same on the road, and pulling back the curtain to check that no one was waiting to slice his throat with a dull razor, that he was truly alone, was as clichéd as it comes. But he always lifted back the curtain anyway. 

There was never anyone there. But, still. It was easier to just get it over with, than lay in bed, listening to your heart ratcheting against your chest, and wondering…

Room one oh eight had something special going for it, because mingling with the scent of spilled booze and cigarette smoke, he got a good whiff of some dickhead’s Taco Bell Chalupa Supreme from the night before. He knew it was beef, not chicken, because the last few bites of it were still on the table. Eh. But there was a blast of cool air, and he was hotter than hell from the road, so the AC made it bearable.

Setting his gun on the night table, he sprawled his weary long limbs over the coverlet, and stared up at the ceiling. Light blue this time. For the hundredth time that day, he willed himself to not think of Chuck. To instead listen to the cars and eighteen wheelers eating up pavement, rumbling over the interstate that crossed in front of the seedy motel. To bottle up the sticky emotions that had coated his gut in the past twenty-four hours. 

Casey kicked the blanket from his foot and toed off his shoes. Fuck. It’s not working.

He decided to do something useful, like get up and take a leak, but he froze when his burner cell phone chirped. In that half second before reality set in, his heart clumped up in his throat. 

Damn. Unless Chuck had become the world’s most cunning escape artist in the past day – fat chance of that – it wasn’t the kid calling from a pay phone to hitch a ride home. Despite this bit of logic, he felt his shoulders slump as he reached for the phone. Common sense also told him there was no need to check the display, because Casey already knew who would be on other end.

It chirped again. “Not exactly patient, are ya’,” he mumbled to himself. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the worn headboard and picked up, just desperate to get it over with.

“Yeah,” Casey said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “What.”

If Stephen J. Bartowski was put out by the lack of a respectable greeting, he wasn’t stopping to make mention of it – the man was already plunging head first into the conversation. 

“I hate having to lie to her,” Stephen said sharply. 

Somewhere from the back corners of his mind, Casey was slammed with an aching reminder of his boyfriend’s words. How many times had he said that..? A damn knot in his chest tightened again. 

“Ellie called this morning. From Fiji. She wanted to check in on us. To check on her little brother.” Casey could hear the bitterness and anger pouring out of Orion. “To make sure you’re taking good care of him.”

“Slow down, old man.” The agent climbed out of bed to fill a water glass, intent on ridding himself of the hoarseness in his throat. “What did you tell her?”

“My daughter is on her honeymoon. What do you think I told her? ‘Hey, honey, when you get back, well, the good news is you won’t have to worry about your brother anymore. The government took care of that nuisance for you. Now you can tell people Charles isn’t working at a Buy More any longer’.”

Jesus H. Christ. Casey took a long drink, holding the phone away from his ear. It was no surprise that Orion was still making a hell of a racket when he set the glass down and listened again.

God, he did not need this shit right now. 

He heaved a sigh. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Casey pulled off his socks and waited for Chuck’s dad to ease up on the gas, but the agitated man showed no signs of taking a breath. 

“Are you listening to me?” Stephen asked.

“Do you ever shut the hell up?” Casey replied, not able to hold it back any longer. With those words, another floodgate opened, echoing familiarity, except when the roughness was aimed at Chuck, he had learned to balance it with a warm sweep of his fingertips, grazing the kid’s arm or bare neck.

“How do you suggest I explain this to her then? His sister, his friends, his co-workers… I’ll have to lie, hide everything that’s happened.”

“So, you’re good at that, aren’t you?” Oh, hell. The accusation was out of Casey’s mouth before he could stop it. The agent decided to fill the disagreeable silence by stripping out of his goddamn stinky clothes, another reminder of an interminable day on the road. Standing up, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid out of them. “You’re Orion,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Seems to me you have a truck load of experience at hiding and lying. Over a decade of it, from what I’ve heard from your son. Let me take care of this. You stay out of it. I’ll let you know when I get there, and when I may need your skill set.”

A long drawn out pause told the agent he may have been just a bit terse with Stephen Bartowski. This was Chuck’s dad after all – he was hurting too. 

“Trust me,” Orion said quietly. “You’re going to need me. And yes, major, I won’t deny it. I may have spent the last decade exactly as you so succinctly put it …. Hiding and lying. And that’s why you need to let me help. To help bring my family back together.”

Stretching out on the bed in only his boxers, Casey rubbed his fingers against his eyelids and considered his options. “Alright, old man. I’m still at least two days out. Even then, I can’t be certain … the place, the facility… it may not be where they stashed him.” Having to hear the futility out loud sent a stake through him. Damn them.

“You… don’t know for certain?”

“No. I wasn’t able to gain access to the –”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that?” 

Casey gritted his teeth and held back the urge to tell the old man he could go fuck himself. “If I remember correctly, I was kind of in a goddamn hurry to get out of there. The NSA team cleaning out the place. Agents swarming like wasps up and down the street. Does that ring any bells?”

“Sarcasm – it suits you. Now, where’re you headed? What is the facility?”

Casey’s eyes narrowed, but after a wait, he blew out a resigned puff. Shit. Just tell him. “Sterling, Virginia.”

“Sterling. Okay, give me a little bit of time.”

“Time? For what?” In reply, the line went dead.

An hour later, the burner chirped again. Reaching across the empty side of the bed with a long, muscled arm, Casey flicked on the lamp and squinted at the display. It wasn’t a call coming in this time. Only a text message, but one that shot a bolt of heat up his spine.

‘The facility in Sterling took possession of a very secretive, high level intelligence asset at 13:17 EST on Sunday. You’re on the right track, major. We’ll be in touch.’

Casey grunted, trying not to sound too impressed. 

Perhaps he had underestimated the old man. Heh. Remote tech support might be a viable solution after all.

-x-

“If I am to understand, lieutenant, you have not been able to ascertain Major Casey’s location.” General Beckman tapped a pencil impatiently on her desk. “Furthermore, the major’s vehicle went missing, right under the collective noses of my team.”

“Yes… ma’am.” McClure stood next to the conference table, a beehive of activity taking place all around him. Castle was being disassembled piece by piece, while he got the privilege of getting dressed down by the general. “It’s unfortunate that the –”

“Unfortunate?” she cut in. “McClure, I can think of a dozen other expletives to describe what happened here, and ‘unfortunate’ would be the mildest. This is on your shoulders. I asked you to find Major Casey, not to let him wander into your mission’s active domain and acquire transportation. Was there something unclear about my orders?”

“No, ma’am.” Even the young NSA agent knew this was not the time to plead his case with her. This was one of those ubiquitous ‘bend over and take it’ moments of one’s career. So, instead, he clutched his hands behind his back and waited for the tirade to sputter out. For a tiny person, she could hold a hell of lot of anger, McClure noted.

“Well?” Her one word question spoke volumes. Simply put, she wanted to know how the hell he planned on fixing his colossal fuck-up and reacquire the major. “Please tell me I haven’t made a grave error in assigning you as the lead in this operation.”

“General, I assure you, I’m well on my way to tracking him down.” Wily big bastard that he is. McClure turned towards the main computer and brought up an image of a search area, a crisscross labyrinth of highways over the southwestern states. “It’s been over twenty-four hours since we’ve last had contact with the major. This,” and he nodded to the screen, “is the outer perimeter of the area he could’ve reached by vehicle in the given timeframe. I’ve issued a 10-50 in every agency, down to the locals on every county road.” 

The general glimpsed at the map before turning her attention to him again. “Go on. What else.”

“By now, the major has disposed of his own vehicle, and has no doubt acquired another mode of transportation,” McClure explained, frowning at the screen. “He would stay away from airports, trains, bus stations – any place where there would be security, CCTVs … crowds. He’s taking great effort to fly under the radar.”

“Yes, I believe your assessment is correct, lieutenant.” She withdrew her hand from a document she had been studying and settled back in her chair. “If you want to catch a cunning man, you have to think like one. Continue. Where are we at?”

“Ma’am, based upon a series of searches that were traced to this computer, he had narrowed his alternatives to three targets.” McClure looked up at the screen with a resolute gaze. “I don’t think he’s flying blind on this one, either. One of the searches Major Casey conducted minutes before he vanished was centered on the Sterling facility. I have every reason to believe he’s on his way there,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map. “The major has every intention of breaking in and retrieving his asset.”

“And you, Lieutenant McClure?”

“Well, ma’am.” He let a dose of self confidence creep back into his tone. “I have every intention of not letting that happen. I will stop him.”

“Good,” she said dryly. “I hope you can turn your track record of the past several days around with this one, agent.”

What a bitch for rubbing his nose in it. Oh, damn right, he will stop him.

-x-

Within moments of ending the video conference, a light rapping of knuckles on Beckman’s office door forced her attention away from the monitor. Her assistant cracked the door open and stuck his head in.

“General. Sorry for the interruption,” the young man said, his handsome face twitching into a small smile. “Your ten a.m. is here, ma’am. Should I show them in?”

“Yes. Thank you, Kennedy.” Beckman took a sip of the last remnants of her coffee, and set the mug off to the side. She looked up in time to see a strikingly handsome man strolling through the doorway, and a woman in a neat black suit a pace or two behind him. 

“Agents,” Beckman said, tilting her head towards two empty chairs in front of her desk. “Please take a seat.”

Plopping down, the man dragged his fingers through his locks and smirked at her. “Long time, no see, ay, General? The last time I saw you – what, was it 2008? – I think the Redskins had a chance to make it into the play-offs that year, and now, well – ow.”

The man jerked in his seat, and it took the general a moment to realize the woman must’ve delivered a swift kick to his calf. “General Beckman.” The blonde raised a brow, a silent warning directed at her companion. “You asked specifically for us. To what do we owe the … honor?” 

Beckman wasn’t fooled by the way she had lingered on her last word, heavy with irony. Eyeing both of them from across her wide desk, the general picked up a report and flipped through it. “Let’s get straight to the point, agents. I’m sure by now you’ve been briefed on the… Major Casey situation.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman cut in before her partner could pipe up with a smart-ass comment. Beckman knew from his look that it was on the tip of his tongue – wanting to point out that the NSA needed to call in the cavalry to fix this cluster. “We understand that he’s… missing,” the blonde said.

“If by missing, you mean rogue, agent,” the general corrected her. “I’m sure you’ve surmised the reason for his meeting. You see… I have commissioned a team, led by one of my top agents, to bring Casey in.” Beckman glanced off to the side, choosing her words carefully. “However, the young man leading the manhunt is somewhat of a … wildcard … not polished – yet. There’s a chance he may never be able to catch up to Casey.” 

“So you want us…?” The smug man purposely didn’t finish the sentence for her. He wanted to hear her say it – that she needed them. 

“You have an advantage here. You worked with Casey – you know how he thinks, what moves he’ll make, the methods he’ll attempt to use in order to take possession of one of our prized assets.” It was almost impossible to detect that the blonde had blanched at the word asset, but the general caught the slight movement before the young woman schooled her features. “Your director has been kind enough to loan your expertise to the NSA on this one. You’ll be taking orders from me until you locate and… let’s say, choke off Major Casey.” The general tossed aside the report, and laid her arms along the armrest of her chair. “You’re my fail-safe. Bring him in using any means necessary.”

Bryce Larkin stared at her with a glint in his aqua blue eyes for a good ten seconds, until a playful grin lit up his face. “Well, Mrs. Anderson,” he said, turning to his partner and poking her in the ribs. “It looks like… the NSA has invited us to their little game of cat and mouse. Are we in, honey?”

Sarah Walker shifted uncomfortably in her seat, making no attempt to return Bryce’s smile. Instead, her eyes were locked on the general’s. “We’re in,” she said after a long moment. When the general nodded and broke eye contact, the blonde flicked a glance at her partner. “We should get going, Bryce. If I recall, this is one mouse that’s more lethal than the cat.”

-x-

Clearly, the government had been expecting him. 

Chuck drew nothing but blanks on this disturbing revelation. But there it was, evidence stuffed in every drawer of the small white dresser lined up against the wall that was opposite the bed. The tag in each cotton drawstring pair of pants – grey, navy blue, and black – read ‘32 Long’. T-shirts, socks, boxers… even a pair of gym shorts that would be sure to fit him. One item he couldn’t find anywhere in the twenty-by-twenty room was a pair of shoes. 

No shoes? One more realization struck him and he sat on the bed and stared at the open drawers. Apparently, the government wasn’t expecting him to be going outside anytime soon.

Inhaling deeply, the kid folded over on his side and closed his eyes. Don’t think about that right now. 

How long had he been here? Racking his brain, he was clueless. This had to be what it was like to be stuck in a twisted warp, separated from his life and time and sensation. 

Chuck remembered waking up… incredibly thirsty and groggy… the dark-haired pale man who had squeezed his leg hard. Oh, God. It hurt. Was it real?

Yanking his pant leg up, Chuck looked down at his knee. Well, that wasn’t a dream. A purple hue – just the start of a row of small bruises – encircled his kneecap where the man had dug in with his fingertips. Then what? More time had passed. The next time he woke up, another man, a different one, was standing next to the bed. Sandy-haired, warm brown eyes… smooth hands, a gentle touch…

Chuck listened to his own breathing and rested his head between his hands. What else? There was a woman with the young man… a nurse. The man told him he needed to calm down… his vitals were sky rocketing.

Sweat, warm and damp, had sprouted over his body until Chuck’s skin was coated in greasy moist heat. At the time, he was still wearing the white tuxedo shirt, and the pool of wetness glued the fabric to his chest and back. The kid tried to listen to the doctor’s voice over the rush of air in his ears. Tried to fill his lungs and let it out slow, like he told him. It didn’t do a lick of good. Chuck’s heart thrummed painfully against his ribcage, exacerbated when the man produced a syringe. ‘Take it easy, kiddo. Not gonna hurt you…’ 

A minute later, his head was swimming in thick goo, and the bed was hovering over the floor. 

Oh, and then… Chuck blushed crimson at what he remembered next. The woman had undressed him – God, he had tried to stop her, swatting at her hands, but the tiny bit of coordination he possessed had evaporated like mist – her deft fingers unbuttoned his shirt, lifting the blanket to unzip his slacks next … and there was a cool cloth drifting over his bare skin. Hushed voices, telling him to hold still so they could help him.

A clean t-shirt that smelled like Clorox bleach went over his head. That was the last clouded thought he had before he slipped into a fuzzy unconsciousness. 

How long ago was that? A day? Two days? 

Where the hell was Casey?

Later, when his eyes fluttered open, blurrily focusing, Chuck lay in bed and kept watch of the door. It was a long time, and Casey still didn’t stick his face in and tell him to get up. Tell him that this was a huge-ass mistake and that they were leaving. 

At least the IV was gone, he told himself. Chuck slanted a look towards the other side of the room and rolled onto his side. An open doorway led to what he presumed was the can, and as much as he wanted to lay there and close his eyes, make this go away, his bladder won out. The kid sighed and kicked a cover off. He figured it was time to test his legs out anyway. They cooperated, and he didn’t buckle to his knees.

After relieving himself, he stopped in front of the dresser again and opened each drawer slowly, pawing around in the contents. Chuck had no idea what he was looking for, but all of the neatly folded t-shirts and boxers were still there. The clothes the government had so thoughtfully picked out for him. For the next fifty years or so, give or take a decade. 

Oh, shit. 

His heart rate was picking up again. The kid choked on an exhale and coughed when he felt bile rising. Immediately, his gut was quenched in vinegar and chalkiness, nauseatingly blended and roiling against the back of his throat. Stumbling to the small washroom again, he hunched over the toilet and retched into it, but his belly was empty and he only managed to heave up air and thick strands of saliva. 

The rigid band of pressure around his chest nearly undid him. It was utterly gross and disgusting, and he would need to shower for a week, but he couldn’t stop himself from resting his forehead on the cool porcelain seat. He shivered, told himself he would live if he could only make it back to the bed…

“Here. Take this.” A glass of water was held to his lips and tipped up. “Drink. Your stomach has nothing in it, kiddo.” Not really seeing a whole host of choices, with the water already dribbling down his cheeks, Chuck drank deeply from the cup. 

When he took his last gulp, the kid pushed the glass away and craned his neck to the side, confronting a pair of flecked brown eyes. “Wh-who the hell are you?” Chuck wheezed between breaths. Well, it seemed like the most pertinent question at this juncture.

The wan smile that crept on the man’s lips made no sense. “Doctor Eisenstein.”

“Wh-what?” Chuck wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is that supposed to be fun –”

“Funny? Uh, no. You see, there’s an ‘en’ in there which makes it worlds apart from the other guy – the one who brought us the theory of general relativity… father of modern physics? Never mind. Oh, and also not to be confused with the bagel bakery … the one with brothers with the bagel-monocles over the eyes – not important, I guess.” The man rested his hip against the counter and gazed down at him. “Um, are you okay?”

Was he okay? Chuck was still on his knees, clinging to the toilet seat, and he bit down on his lips to keep his teeth from chattering. Blinking up at the man, he fought to come up with a coherent reply, but nothing came to mind. 

“Well, I’m asking because… you may not want to stay down there,” the young man went on, eyeing him with unease. “Not to disparage the cleaning crew, but… just eww? Right. Anywaaay.” Chuck watched as the man swiped his right hand down his pant leg. “You can call me David if the whole ‘Doctor Eisenstein’ thing is a bit much… and will you be terribly offended if I don’t shake your hand yet?” The man’s eyes darted down to Chuck’s palm, clamped around the curve of the seat.

“Uh, no?” There. That was coherent at least. Chuck let go of the seat and sat back on his haunches. “And, who are you?”

“Well, since I told you who I am… you’re probably meaning to ask, why am I here? Standing in your bathroom?”

“That… may be what I’m thinking… yes, you could say that.” 

“More water?” the man asked, holding up the glass. When Chuck waved a palm, he set the cup down on the counter. “You should eat something, sport. It’s been,” and he glimpsed at his watch, “many hot meals ago since you arrived.”

Chuck frowned. “No, thanks.” Taking a deep inhale, he slowly rose to his feet and grabbed onto the countertop to steady himself. With a fleeting look sideways into the mirror, he winced. His reflection was startling, even to him. A man with disheveled waves – the unruly consequence of running his fingers through his hair – dark shadows under his eyes, and a pasty-white pallor stared back at him. “Oh, God,” the kid muttered, and turned on the faucet to splash cold water over his face. 

Feeling only marginally less like crap when he was done, Chuck snagged a towel and dried off. This clearly wasn’t the normal circumstance for cordial introductions, so he leaned against the counter and eyed the man skeptically. 

Well, the stranger had called him ‘kiddo’, but the man was fairly young himself – no more than his late thirties, Chuck guessed. He had light hair to go with his warm brown eyes, and small laugh lines around the corners of his mouth. On the spot, the kid decided the man was poles apart from the doctor who had visited him earlier in the day – or was it yesterday?

“I wish you would reconsider – the food’s not bad here. Just beware of ‘Shepherd’s Pie Tuesdays’,” David told him, mustering up a grin. When Chuck’s stubborn face didn’t budge, the man motioned with this hand. “Okay… fine. How about taking a walk with me then?”

“A… walk?” Chuck’s eyes widened, outright bewildered by the offer. “We can …? You’re going to let me…?”

“Oh. Sorry. I just meant, up to my office? It’s not far, or anything like that, but I thought you would want a walk… stretch your legs a little bit?” The young doctor tilted his head towards the door and gave him an awkward smile. “Maybe build up your appetite?” 

“Not hungry,” Chuck grumbled, but he followed him out of the bathroom. Shuffling to a stop in the middle of his room, the kid rubbed his watery eyes while he considered the proposition. He couldn’t help but be wary, could he? Look where trust had got him. 

But the man sized him up with sincere eyes, and underneath, there was a look of concern and regret he wasn’t even attempting to hide. “Okay… the walk then. Sound like a plan? Oh, but I should warn you. It’s not glamorous or anything. And, the maid hasn’t been by to tidy things up this week.” David winked, and pulling out a card from his pocket, he headed towards the door.

“Your… office?” the kid asked, looking down at his grey t-shirt and navy blue drawstring pants. He cringed. This getup would scream ‘wandering inmate’ to anyone they ran into out there. 

“Uh-huh. Ready?” David swiped his badge through the reader, and a small LED on the panel flashed green and beeped. The lock released with a click.

Oh, hell. Just go already. “Okay, okay… you’re right. I need to get out of this room,” Chuck sighed, resigned to the fact he could face down any governmental-fanged boogey man waiting for him on the other side of the door. “Lead the way.” 

-x-

“What … exactly are you looking for?” Chuck stood at the doorway with his arms folded over his chest, scanning an incredibly messy work space. And Casey called him a slob? Papers and folders were stacked in crooked piles, covering every square inch of a desk – well, Chuck presumed there was a desk under there somewhere, though it would take a shovel and a strong man – don’t think of Casey right now – to find it. A row of pine bookcases lined one wall, stuffed with academic hard covers, and strangely enough, a large collection of fiction paperback books. The office was cramped but comfortable. “And, by the way, I didn’t see anybody else. Where are the … others?” the kid asked.

“Uh, others?” The doctor looked up at him while his hand was busy clawing through one of his desk drawers. Out came a stapler, a thermos, and a wad of rubber bands. “You mean the residents?”

“Is that what you’re calling them?” Chuck shot back. “Residents? They’re a little generous with the terminology in this place, don’t you think?”

David closed the top drawer and moved on to the one below it. “I understand why you’d be offended by such a universal term,” he acknowledged. “But, the reason you haven’t come in contact with the others is that new res – welll, we’ll have to come up with a term we can agree on – are placed in isolation on this floor when they arrive.”

“Arrive. Another one of those twisted terms. You mean kidnapped.”

“Uh, can we meet half way and call it, oh, I don’t know, ‘taken into custody’?” David strained to reach into the far recesses of the bottom drawer. “Does that sound like a fair compromise?”

Chuck shook his head, thunder struck by the conversation. How could he be so nonchalant about this? “What is your job?” the kid asked. “Warden?”

“Hah. Officially? I think my HR record says ‘Initiatory Transition Specialist – Level Six’. 

“Transition Specialists? What does that mean… in English?”

“I ask myself that quite often, too,” David chuckled. “It means, my role is to help you … adjust to your life here.” Switching gears at a breakneck pace, the young doctor became serious, halting his maddening search to fasten his eyes on Chuck’s. “You’re going to need someone to get you through… what is certain to be a difficult phase. Someone you can talk to. I’m an MD, but I also pulled a four years residency in – okay, now I know you think you don’t need a psychiatrist, but believe me, a few weeks from now –”

“A psychiatrist?!”

“Just for my own edification here, are you going to repeat everything I say?”

“But you’re a –?” In a heartbeat, Chuck’s face tightened into a scowl and he stood up straight in the doorway. Damn them. He didn’t need a shrink. He needed Casey to get him the hell out of here. “I’d like to go back to my room now,” the kid insisted.

The man simply ignored him. When Chuck gave him a black look, the doctor brushed that off with a shrug, and continued searching; lifting stacks of papers, sweeping his hand over the top shelf of the bookcase. It took a full half minute more for David to say another word, but judging by the way his eyes lit up, he finally found the object he had misplaced. 

“Ah-ha!” he said, sounding gleeful. “I knew I had one in here.”

Part of Chuck wanted to tell the man he could kindly shove whatever he had been looking for into another dark tight place. But, after witnessing the hunt, he felt a prick of curiosity. “Find… what, now?”

Gripping the object, David waggled his hand back and forth in front of Chuck’s face. “A deck of cards, of course. Pull up a seat.”

“A deck of… cards?”

Raising a brow, the doctor gave him another one of his easy grins. “You did it again, by the way.” He motioned to a small table in the corner, and dragged a chair over to the side of it. “I mean, the whole repeating thing you have going on there?”

Chuck huffed. He could barely believe he was in the midst of this wildly crazy banter. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with –”

“Do you know how to play euchre?”

“Eu –?“

“Ah!” David’s grin somehow got wider. “This is a habit with you, isn’t it?”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t know what it is.”

“You’re not from the Midwest, I take it?”

“Uh, no…?”

“That’s okay. I won’t hold it against you. It’s easy to learn.” The doctor signaled to the other chair and nodded. “Please. Sit.”

Hesitating, Chuck darted a look out the doorway, and debated the merits of making a break for it, down the hallway to the – well, what then, idiot? Where would he go? And how would he keep going without one of those badges? The battle raged for a long moment – flight or comply, but finally, he uncrossed his arms and pushed his hands through his curls in exasperation. “Alright. My schedule seems to be clear right now,” he said, feeling himself caving in. “Show me.”

“Have a seat,” David said, shuffling the cards expertly. “Would you like some coffee? I can’t give you regular, but I keep a stash of decaf that’s actually not half bad. Hazelnut?”

As much as he wanted to tell him what he could do with his coffee and his cards and his damn framed certificates on the walls… well… coffee didn’t sound half bad. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I could use a cup of coffee right about now.”

-x-

“Freaking ridiculous,” Chuck griped, tossing the cards on the table. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“Now, I know it seems a little… odd? Because normally, you need four players, but, with the isolation order and all… well, it puts a little bit of a damper on four person play, which is why I like to –”

“Not that.” Chuck pushed back in his chair and pinned him with a cold look. “I know what you’re doing.”

David’s hands stilled for a brief moment, but then he shuffled the cards two more times before glancing up at the kid. His eyes were full of mischief. “Well, I’m not surprised. They told me that you’re highly intelligent.”

“And who are they?”

“Analysts.” The doctor began dealing the next hand, two cards, followed by three cards. “So, what am I doing?”

“My sister is a doctor,” Chuck replied as he picked up his cards. “I know all about the ‘total patient care classes’. Trying to get me to push all of this off to the side,” and he waved a hand in the air. “Doing something familiar, but maybe mundane, like playing cards – only to get me to open up about the insanity of this prison –”

“Oh. Not that one.”

“What?”

“The card. Don’t play that one yet.” David nodded at the tabletop. “I could be hiding the left bower.”

Chuck blinked at him, but picked up the card he had played. “Well?”

Okay, crap,” David muttered, stopping to take a long drink from his coffee. “Oh, hey, that one’s better. See, you’re catching on.” Glancing sidelong at Chuck, he threw down the next card. “Am I that transparent? I must be, right? Which only means my parents had this pegged all along. Hard to admit, isn’t it?” His voice went up half an octave in a sing-song pitch. “I should’ve just been happy practicing medicine – stayed put and become a ‘real medical doctor’ as my mother calls it, and ‘not chase this hare-brained idea of being shrink’.” 

Chuck rolled his eyes before flicking a look at his hand, seeming to remember he was actually trying to win this game. “You actually call yourself a shrink?”

“And all of this, yeah, I know, its transparent psycho-babble, right? Playing cards is a ‘normal’ routine, I ask you to open up, tell me about your feelings. Oh, you don’t want to play that –”

“Okay, sheesh.” The kid threw down another card. He sensed that now would be an opportune time to divert the attention away from himself, and Chuck nodded at the row of diplomas and certificates on the wall. “You’re telling me they’re not proud of you?” 

Shrugging his shoulders, the other man studied his cards before tossing one down. “Yep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chuck paused long enough to plaster a sarcastic grin on his face. “Because… I thought this was about little ol’ me.”

“Humph. They didn’t mention your sense of humor in your file…” But David grinned back at him. “So, do you want it to be about you?” 

“No!” Chuck frowned, averting his eyes down to his cards. “That was a joke. You know, humor? Just… stop talking, because… I don’t need a shrink and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then, play your card.” David watched him throw down an ace, and cheerfully scooped up the hand. “Ha – right bower. For that crack about my parents, I’m taking the trick – and you’ve been euchered, kiddo.”

“Fine,” Chuck grumbled, and flipping down his hand, he picked up his coffee mug. “Dumb game anyway.” Sipping a drink of the hot liquid and feeling it slide down his throat was somehow comforting, and Chuck closed his eyes just to relish it. To be human again, even if it only meant a cup of hot coffee. 

When he opened his eyes, he felt the heat from David’s open scrutiny. The kid’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, clearing his throat self-consciously. He sure as hell didn’t appreciate being studied like a lab rat, even if David had been, well, pleasant at least. 

Avoiding the hard stare, Chuck angled his head to the side and squinted when one of the framed certificates caught his eye. 

Then, his face darkened and he tossed his cards on the table.

“Isn’t that going to come in handy. According to the certificate, I have my very own accredited ‘Grief Counselor’. Boy, the government thinks of everything don’t they?” Chuck crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you never dreamed you’d be counseling the person who actually lost their life – did you have to take extra credits – maybe an additional evening seminar? – to learn how to handle that little nuance?”

Biting down on his lip, the young doctor set his cards in the pile and pushed the stack across the table. “Whoa,” he mumbled under his breath. “When you do unload, you just give it both barrels, don’t ya’? I mean, the way this was going, I thought it would take you a few months to tell me to go to hell.” 

Chuck was tempted to tell him now, just to ensure he got the message. But instead, he grabbed the cards and began to shuffle them. “I won’t be here in a few months.” he finally said. 

The other man quirked a brow at him; obviously this statement had piqued his interest. “Well, you seem… quite sure of that…why do you think you won’t be here? 

Chuck licked his bottom lip, wondering where this would get him – ‘the patient is delusional, the patient has unrealistic hopes’– but in the end, he blurted it out.

“Because it’s true.”

“Oh… now there’s a telling line,” David chuckled. His soft laugh had a way of warming the room. “Denial, right? This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you it’s going to be okay… even if you are still here–”

“If I’m still here, it’s not going to be okay,” Chuck told him flatly. 

The words chilled what was warm just a moment ago. “I see,” David replied quietly. “I guess there’s only one thing you should keep in mind, then.” Squaring his shoulders against the back of his chair, David appraised him frankly. “Being okay? The truth is, that’s up to you.” 

Chuck’s gaze slid to the open door. He needed to get out of here, out from under the inquisitive looks. “Should we go back now?”

“But, we’re tied – which I have to say is very impressive for a rook. Three more hands?” David gave him a crooked wheedling smile, and Chuck had no choice but to roll his eyes and nod in agreement. “Good… Now why do you say, you won’t be here…?”

Chuck rubbed his thumb over the stack of cards, and peered up at him through his lashes. Should he just say it? “My… handler. That’s why. He’s not going to let me just rot here.”

“Your… handler? He’s going to come here?”

The way he had drawn out ‘handler’ sent a shiver down Chuck’s back. The government knew something. And it was quite obvious that this man knew something too. A secret that they had so carefully concealed. “And, where is here anyway?” Chuck asked, clumsily changing the subject again.

“Sorry, kid.” David made a wry face and scooped up his mug to get a refill. “You know I can’t tell you that. But… back to Casey again –”

Of course they would’ve told David the name of his handler. Without a flinch, Chuck adopted a stony expression. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Very funny. Okay then, deal.” David’s eyes went wide at what he had said. “Oh, the cards I mean! I would never say ‘deal’ like ‘deal with it’ to a patient. That would be just… wrong, don’t you think?”

This time, Chuck looked up from the cards to blink at him. “You’re sure you’re a doctor?”

“That’s what the wall says. Um, not the parents though, remember? We talked about this. My feelings of professional inadequacy ring any bells with you?”

Okay, the kid had to give the young doc some credit for easing the dialogue back into a friendly place. Chuck tried to stop it, but a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Huh. I like you better than the other guy.”

David’s shoulders seem to tense, and he sat up straight in his chair. “What other guy?”

God, what had he said to get him this worked up? “The creepy guy, that’s who. I don’t know, I was still drugged – thanks to whoever brought me here. He said his name was Raymond or Reynolds… something like that.”

“A man came to your room? There was a nurse who checked you over, I know… but, are you telling me –”

“He said he was a doctor.” Chuck scratched the side of his neck as he rummaged through his foggy memory. “Oh, and he said he –” was the lead scientist for the Intersect Project. That’s what he had said. But the kid pressed his lips together and shifted his eyes away. Was he supposed to tell David about the Intersect? How much did he know? “Never mind,” he said. “Maybe I don’t remember.” 

“No, I think you remember,” David told him, and his jaw tightened as he searched Chuck’s face. “For whatever reason, you don’t want to give me the details, but you do remember his name.”

Well, Chuck didn’t see the harm in telling him that. “It was Reynolds.”

“And he came to your room?”

“Yes.” When Chuck stretched his leg under the table, he could still feel the twinge of pain from the strong fingers that had dug into his kneecap. Threatening him. “He talked to me and then he left. I was still half out of it. That’s all.”

“Son of a bitch… Oh, pardon.” David glanced up, embarrassed that he had let a curse slip out. In reply, Chuck gave him a puzzled look, so David shrugged and went on. “It’s just that I’m the only one who interacts with new residents slash prisoners – if it makes you happy to put it that way – until they get my go-ahead. No interrogations, analysts, agents – until…”

“Until you can assess me? Make sure I’m stable enough to talk to them?”

“See, you sound like an old pro at this. But, yeah. Something like that.”

Chuck avoided the pair of sparkling brown eyes trained on him. “Assess me,” he snorted, hoping to hide his jitters. “So, how am I doing?” 

“Typical, I have to say. Maybe a little better than most.” David peeked down at the card Chuck had played. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything he said…? Did he try to –”

“No. Nothing.” Why was he so unwilling to open up to him? Wait a minute, moron, he could hear Casey’s husky voice ringing in his head. Because David is one of them. The kid wiped a sweaty palm down his pant leg. “Like I said, I don’t remember anything.”

When Chuck reached down to drag the cards into his pile, David gently but firmly trapped his wrist under his palm. The kid felt smooth warm skin, not anything like the rough but achingly intimate texture of Casey’s. He wanted to bolt, but the grip tightened slightly.

“Hey, look at me.” David joggled his wrist to get him to look up. “I don’t know who you are, kid, or what you did for them before you got here, or even how you ended up here for that matter… But I’ve never seen the team at this facility – or the top level at Langley – take such an interest in one of our residents. You’ve got them in a tizzy like nothing I’ve seen before –”

“You did it again. Prisoners, remember.”

His dark brows furrowed in contemplation, and then David squeezed Chuck’s wrist gingerly before letting go. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me… even just to let out some of that hostility you’re doing a pretty shitty job of repressing?”

“Just deal,” Chuck replied, yanking his arm back to this side. “Oh, and I should tell you – I don’t mean just the cards.” 

David slumped back in his chair, regarding him for a few seconds before his laughter filled every corner of the tiny office. “I like you, Chuck. You’re smart. Except when it comes to this game,” he added, making a point to tease Chuck about the card he had played. “I should be telling you not to open with that one, but if I win – here’s the bet. You have to tell me why you think … this Casey character is coming back here for you.”

The question sent a sizzle through the kid, made his heart hammer. The answer was simple – but infinitely complex… 

…Because they had split each other wide open, tasted one another’s vulnerability… and strength. They had shared their flesh willingly, with a desperate fierceness… wholly bared their secrets to the other

Did David really think he would share his deepest longing – just for the asking?

Okay, but ask yourself this, genius. Why isn’t he here yet? Chuck tamped down the surge of nerves that tickled the back of his throat. He had had his fill of this joint already. “I’m tired,” he sighed, and the kid threw the cards on the table and looked away. “I want to go back to my room now.”

David cast him a long look before picking up the deck and putting it back in the drawer. “Okay, kiddo. I can see you’ve had enough of me kicking your ass at this game.” He nodded, and gave him a good natured smile, but there was a rooted sadness in his eyes. “One more thing though. Since we’ve already established that I’m, well, transparent as glass to you, let me just come out and say it. Whatever secrets you have behind those deep, innocent eyes of yours, you need to … deal with it.” He grinned when Chuck looked up at him to roll his eyes again. “I mean it, though. You need to talk to me at some point. Until then: no agents, no analysts, this Reynolds guy, or whoever wants to see you. The answer is no.” 

“I’m not going to talk to you,” Chuck announced, folding his arms defiantly over his chest. “So much for your chosen career path, huh?”

“Well, then,” David said, signaling for him to climb out of the chair. “If that’s your stance, you better get used to Euchre. Oh, and me. Most definitely me.”

-x-

“Where are you?” 

“I was called back to DC without having to request it. Seems the brass inadvertently helped us out on this one.”

Casey looked over the hood of the car, but paid no heed to the patchwork of farm fields and rolling hills outside his window. “You haven’t reconsidered?” he asked deliberately. “Operations Crossroads… could send your spotless record, well, straight into the shitter, if they ever get wind of your involvement.” He waited to see if the agent would crack. “This is your final chance to bow-out without the nasty black mark on your file.” Or worse.

“I already told you. I made a promise, remember? Now, where are you?”

“Not important. Still on the road. So, what are they saying on the inside?”

The NSA agent heard a light snicker. “Well, Casey, you seemed to have instigated the largest and most lively manhunt since Bin Laden. BOLOs in twenty states… every agency engaged…” The voice trailed off with an amused hum. 

“What?” Casey growled, as he stretched his back to work out the kinks. “You see something funny here?”

“No, not that. It’s just … I’m impressed, major,” the agent said. “More than that. I’m surprised you’ve been able to evade our people on the case so far. I knew you were good… but this…” 

Casey shrugged a large shoulder. He had a wise-ass comment ready to fly, but the agent found himself biting down on the tip of his tongue. The barefaced truth was that no one was more surprised than he was. Were the agencies really this incompetent? 

Scanning a map he had crumpled on the passenger seat, Casey took advantage of the dead air to swiftly change the topic. Time was short, and he wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was dying inside to get a tip, some news, hell, anything on Chuck. “So, do you have word on…?” He let it end there and waited.

“No. Sorry, Casey.” The NSA agent could hear frustration on the other end of the line. “I tried to dig up some intel on his condition, or his circumstances … without drawing suspicion to myself, but, no. Not a word on … him.”

Jesus. It’s Chuck. Casey shook his head and grabbed the black coffee from the cup holder. Bring yourself to at least say his name, no matter how badly you fucked him over. 

Casey took a long drink. The sickness he had been feeling came and went with the curves in the road, so he swallowed hard to drive the bitterness back down. “You don’t owe me an apology, got it?” he said, a little rougher than he intended. To kill the silence, Casey glanced at the radio knobs and twiddled with one of them. Well, fuck, it was obvious the insinuation was there. Chuck. You owe him that much. Not me.

“Oh… hey… I’ve been meaning to ask you.” The cautious tone made Casey sit up taller in his seat, his senses prickling to alertness. “How are … you holding up?”

With the words hanging out there, he was suddenly awash in a heated recollection out of nowhere … lying in their rumpled bed, long limbs entwined, a stubbly cheek turned into his warm shoulder...

How would he answer that? As well as one can when a hole has been blasted through his chest? 

Fucking great. If he didn’t hang up, she’d try to wheedle his feelings out of him. He wasn’t going there. Not now. 

“I have to end this call,” he said in a scratchy voice. “We’ll be in touch.”

-x-

“You can’t see him yet. It’s too soon. He hasn’t even had a decent meal. So, back off.” 

Curled up in a fetal position, Chuck was half asleep – but someone right outside his door was undoubtedly pissed. 

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” the man wanted to know. “How’d you get authorization to come down here?”

“Doctor Reynolds. And you are… does that say ‘Einstein?’ Reallllly.” The kid heard a dark scoff. “Out of my way, Einstein.”

One of Chuck’s eyes popped wide. Reynolds. That’s him… the one who –”

“My patient, my rules.” And that was David, sounding abrupt to whoever he had cornered in the hallway. “For the record, you can pass the message along to the rest of them too. Jesus. I’ve never seen your type circling like such buzzards.”

“That’s because this is different, Einstein.” A beep was followed by the sound of the security door whispering open. “And, miles above your pay grade. Why don’t you run along and –”

“First – it’s Eisenstein. There’s an ‘en’ in there, for God sakes.” Oh, crap, Chuck groaned. The thorny conversation had just moved into his room. Great. “Second – I haven’t seen your authorization for access. You shouldn’t even be on this level, so I think you’re the one who needs to –”

“Excuse me.” Chuck rolled onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “I’m, uh, flattered and all by the attention, you know… the fact that I seem to be the shiny new toy around here…?” Pushing up on his elbows, he gave both of them a look of daggers. “But would you mind getting the hell out of here?” 

Both men pivoted to face the kid with a look of surprise, apparently mystified that the young man who they thought was out cold had just sat up and cursed at them. Did they really think he could sleep through this racket?

Reynolds narrowed his eyes briefly before giving Chuck a smile that he could see was decidedly forced. “Mister Bartowski, good to see you’re up. Maybe we can –” He took a step forward, but David stopped him with a strong grip on his forearm.

“Nuh-uh,” he said to Reynolds. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, but I’m going to call security if you don’t take your clipboard and beat it. I certainly haven’t cleared him for de-briefing yet. And you need written authorization to show your face down here. Period.” The young doctor flashed a look at Chuck, who was now sitting up in bed with his hands uncontrollably balled into fists. “Sorry, kiddo,” David said, eyeing those fists with curiosity. “Try to get some rest. Reynolds here is leaving.”

Wrenching his arm free from David’s grip, Reynolds took his time straightening his sleeve, all the while glaring at him. “You don’t know what you’re up against. I’ll be back in the morning with my written authorization – from General Beckman.” A determined sideways glance was pointed at Chuck on his way out. “Try to get some sleep,” he said. “We start testing tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day.” 

The door slid shut. David and Chuck both blinked at it, and after a long moment, David turned towards the bed. Shaking his head, he exhaled deeply. “Your friend from yesterday, I presume?”

“Yep, he’s a charmer,” Chuck deadpanned, fluffing his pillow. “Wound a little tight, huh?” Flopping down on his back, the kid sprawled out his long legs and covered his eyes with his forearm. “When he comes back with his written authorization tomorrow, can you do me a favor?”

“Shoot. Oh, but first I should ask… what is it?”

“Tell him he can shove it up his ass because I’m not going to be part of their testing.”

Lying still, Chuck listened, expecting a witty retort, or a quiet attempt at convincing him to reconsider, something – so, the swirling undercurrent of silence and tension forced the kid to shift his arm and peek out from under it. David stood off to the side, hands on his hips, but what struck the kid was the inscrutable look he had aimed at him. 

“Actually,” David huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I need you to do me a favor.”

Chuck snorted. “Are you serious? Because, you see, I’m not really in the position to do anyone a favor right now. Remember, I’m the bunker boy here.” Lifting his shoulder, he started to roll over, signaling to David that he could leave.

But the doctor stopped him with a hand on his arm. “This is something you can do, kiddo.”

“And stop calling me that.” It only sounded right when it was Casey’s rugged voice, accompanied by warm lips grazing his bare neck… 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend or anything … uh, the favor?” David stammered. “You have to eat. It’s been almost forty hours since you were brought here.”

“Brought here.” Chuck pretended to consider the term. “Nope. Still doesn’t quite catch the flavor of ‘kidnapped.’” He started to roll over again, but looked over his shoulder. “Told you – I’m not hungry. Oh, unless there’s decent Chinese down the street from here? I know you’re on the clock, and it may not be break time, so if you just want to give me your car keys, and I can grab a take-out to go – is the moo goo gai pan okay? Oh, and I promise not get a door ding.” Chuck held out his palm expectantly, as if David would drop the keys in it. “Or burn the tires in the parking lot on the way out –”

“– I’m not going to be able to stop the testing – and neither will you,” David cut in flatly. “And based upon the flurry of activity in this freaking beehive, they will be back tomorrow.”

The blunt tone, an edginess that David couldn’t hide, made Chuck turn around and sit up again. “So?” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his stubble. 

God. He was reminded that he hadn’t bothered to shave…or shower… or eat for that matter, as David had so concisely pointed out to him.

“Look at you.” The young doctor gestured at the kid with a grimace. “No offense, but you, my friend, are a mess.”

“I told you. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. By fine, if you mean you look like shit twice warmed over, then yes, you are fine,” David said. “You are in no shape for this. Whatever the hell they have planned for you.” Conflicting emotions wavered over his face, but then he bunched his lips together in exasperation. “That’s it. If you don’t eat something, I’m placing you on an NG-tube. Though I would hate myself for it. So, what’s your choice?”

Chuck’s felt his spine go ramrod straight. “What?” Squinting at the other man, he scooted his legs off the side of the bed. “Do… do I even want to know what an NG-tube is?”

“I thought you said your sister was a doctor.” 

“Does that mean I’m supposed to know –” His brain caught up. “Wait a minute… a feeding tube? Is that what you… are you –?” Chuck stuttered, climbing to his feet. “You bastard… you wouldn’t.”

“Really? Well, here’s the deal. I’m coming back in fifteen minutes with two items – the tube and a plate of food.” David raised an eyebrow. “You get to pick which one you want.” Rounding to the door, he tilted his head at his patient, and there was no way in hell David could hide his discomfort. “Don’t be so stubborn, Chuck.”

True to his word, the kid heard the security door slide open fifteen minutes later. With his back to the room, Chuck pretended to be asleep, but David saw right through the sulking. He set down the plate on a small table and clanged the knife against the edge of it. 

“Mad at me, huh?” he mumbled apologetically. “Uh, pancakes okay? I didn’t know whether you were a blueberry guy or a chocolate chip guy, so I had the cook make two of each. I had to guess on the bacon, too – is crispy gonna work? I know some people like it when it’s still a little, well, you know, bendy, I guess. Because, I don’t really eat bacon. She had some marbled rye on the counter, so I hope you don’t mind it toasted and buttered. Oh, with raspberry jam … and that I may snatch a piece from you?” The kid heard the footsteps approach the side of his bed. “Get up, Chuck…oooh, wait. Geez, that just sounded bad, didn’t it? Up… Chuck? Get it?” 

“You are an idiot, you know that? Didn’t you hear me? I said go away – Gah!” A playful poke on his ribcage made Chuck jump. He flipped over onto his back and gave David a long dirty look. “For the record? I hate you.”

“Good,” David smiled, sensing Chuck was laying down his proverbial sword. “Now that you’re sharing your feelings and all, and we’re making good progress, I’m glad you see this my way. Now get up and eat.”

Heaving a breath of dejection, Chuck got out of bed slowly and sat at the table. How could he be hungry? His stomach was knotted, and he had to choke down a sour tang in his throat just to look at the food. Glancing up from the plate, he saw David eyeing him like a hawk. 

“Well? Does it look okay?”

Chuck stared blankly at the pancakes; chocolate chips melting in molten dark pools… ripe blueberries burst open and sprinkled on top. The smoky smell of the bacon and buttered toast curled together, wafting up his nose. The aroma was heavenly, and maybe he could forget the coil of nerves churning in his gut, the thick lump stuck in his windpipe…

He ate ravenously, not setting down the fork once, not thinking. In a blink, the food had vanished.

The young doctor paged through a paperback book, watching him over the top of it as Chuck pushed the plate away. David flashed a grin at him. “Good, hmm? I told you the food wasn’t bad here. Just like ho – Oh, shit. Sorry.”

Chuck’s head shot up and he blinked at David. Opening his mouth, he tried to say something, but the words died in his throat. He swallowed hard, and this time, normal speech actually worked.

“… like home.” Chuck squelched his eyes closed to stop the burn behind them. “Ellie,” he said, barely audible. “They were just like Ellie’s.” Not only Ellie’s.

… a coarse fingertip traced the angle of jaw, tickling him to wakefulness. His eyes fluttering, Chuck ducked under the warmth of the blanket to get away from the nuisance…

“Wake up, Bartowski.”

“…hmm?” he grumbled. “Day off, Casey. ‘member?”

“I said, wake up.”

“Numph.”

“Guess I’ll have to eat all of these.”

The kid stuck his nose out and sniffed the air. Wait –are those –

“I thought you liked blueberry pancakes.”

“…hmm? …you made breakfast? In bed?” Chuck opened one eye and breathed in, while a lopsided grin slid onto his face. “Where’s Casey … and what have you done with him?”

“Heh. Thought ya’ might change your tune. I was hungry,” Casey shrugged a large shoulder, “so, I made breakfast. Eat.” 

It was just a simple plate of pancakes and maple syrup...

The train of emotions slammed the kid in the chest. “I can’t stay locked up here forever…” Chuck whispered. He felt himself unraveling like a spool of yarn, and in a flash, his face went taut, his cheeks tinged in a chalky pastiness.

“Now, easy kid, don’t –”

“Oh…God…” Chuck heard himself say. Springing out of his chair, he barreled into the tiny bathroom, almost stumbling at the threshold before sliding to a stop.

“Chuck?” David threw down the book and was on his heels. 

The kid fell to his knees in front of the toilet. Dry heaves chugged up from his stomach, but the food stayed lodged where it was, and after a minute, the heaves became helpless broken noises. Chuck was desperate to get rid of it, empty his body of the evidence. Of its betrayal. But only dried up, hacking coughs sputtered from his lips, telling him he was already empty. 

“Please. I have to get out of here…” Shrinking back on his haunches, Chuck’s rear end landed on the floor with a thump, and he buried his head in his hands. At first the kid was frozen, his stomach clenched with a spurt of dread. But his body began shaking hard, uncontrollably; enough for his teeth to begin chattering.

The final betrayal of his body spidered through him, and his shoulders jerked as silent sobs wracked his chest. He wanted to crawl into the corner and curl up, wait for this to go away, but his limbs weren’t taking signals from his brain.

“Oh, hell,” David whispered from somewhere over him. Kneeling down, he put his cool hand on the back of Chuck’s neck, rubbing reassuringly. “God, I really hate this fucking job sometimes.”

-x-End Way Back Chapter One-x-


	2. Chapter Two

Casey vs. the Way Back

Chapter Two

-x-

“So, how’s Parkersburg, West Virginia this time of year?” 

Casey tilted his head to look at the alarm clock. Three twenty-one a.m. Sagging his head into the pillow, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. God, anyone but him…

“I’d recommend the River City Tavern for dinner,” the voice went on, “but you probably don’t plan on sticking around –”

“What the fuck do you want?” Casey rumbled. “And, by the way, do you have any idea what time it is on the east coast?”

Stephen Bartowski chuckled. “Hey. That’s no way to speak to your… well, I don’t know what the proper etiquette is in this case… Future father-in-law doesn’t sound quite right… especially since you’re – oh, let’s face it – you were enlisting when Charles was learning to ride his Schwinn without the training wheels. Perhaps we can say I’m your ‘Domestic Partnership’ parental figure? Huh. I guess that’s only if you plan on making an honest man out of my boy when this adventure is over…?” 

“Fuck.” The muscles in Casey’s jaw twitched. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Whoa, whoa… okay. Left that gleaming sense of humor of yours on the road somewhere, I see. Maybe back in Kansas City yesterday?”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Oh, I don’t know, major.” The dour amusement that had started the conversation was gone, replaced by the kick in the gut worry that Casey recognized well by now. “It could have something to do with the small matter of my son being stuffed underground by the DNI.” Orion made a bitter scoffing noise. “They finally have the Human Intersect completely under their care, and they’re doing God knows what to him –”

“Slow down, old man. I get it.” Casey heaved a breath. So he wasn’t the only one getting edgy.

“Will you be in Sterling tomorrow?” Stephen asked, half-demand, but underneath, half-plea. “I want this to be over.” 

The agent sat up and rubbed his eyes. Not as badly as he did. “That’s the plan,” he said. “I figure I’ll be stopping outside of town by tomorrow evening.”

“Do you have any inkling what you’re going to do when you get there? How you’re going to break into the Fort Knox of underground bunkers and get Charles out of there?”

“Yeah,” Casey growled, fluffing a pillow that was hopelessly flat. “I’ve got an idea or two.”

“What about me? My involvement. You said you could use remote tech support.”

His agent senses spiked. The lead engineer, the designer of the Intersect… hell, Chuck’s dad… getting tangled up in a rescue op. Even with his uncanny ability to track down data, the risk…

“Suppose there’s no way I can talk you out of your role in this, eh? Get you to leave it to the ones with experience.”

“Not a chance. I’m a Bartowski. I told you – I’m in.”

“Bartowski,” Casey mumbled lowly as he stared up at the ceiling. “Geek-speak for stubborn and unreasonable, all rolled up into one neat little package. Yeah, I get that too.”

“Huh. I bet you do,” Stephen replied, and it was that knowing, smartass way that he had down pat. “I’m asking you again: do you have a plan, major? Or are you going in there armed to the teeth, ready to blow the hell out of everything – and get my son killed in the process?”

Stephen Bartowski was second guessing him, in a tone on the brink of condescending. It made Casey want to toss the phone against the wall, except one tiny detail stopped him. 

Well, blowing the hell out of everything was still on the table. But, no way was he telling Orion that.

“Let’s just say I’m meeting up with someone tomorrow night, and I’ll let you know after that – if I need you.”

“When you need me.” Stephen was quiet for a few seconds before going on. “Meeting someone… So, that means you’re not storming the fortress alone. Good man, major. Glad you realized that you can’t bust in there and be the cowboy on this one,” he said wryly. “You’ve got some help in your back pocket. And, you need that help. All of it.”

“I think I know how to protect Chuck by now.” Before Orion could argue, Casey threw out the question that had been nagging him since he picked up the call. “How do you know where I am, anyway?”

“And that, major, is none of your damn business.” He pictured Stephen Bartowski with that fucking smug grin on his face. Why the hell did he let the man get under his skin like this? 

“Fine. Are we done here, because –”

“I bet you’re wondering though, aren’t you? I mean, it has to be gnawing at your gut just a little.” Chuck’s dad laughed quietly, a cynical sound that only served to piss him off even more. “How can I find you so easily, right? I know where you’ve been. I know where you’re at this very second – and all of the resources of every agency don’t even have a sniff of you.” Stephen Bartowski let out a caustic snicker. “But… they’re right on your trail.”

“… the hell.” Casey shot up in bed and reached for his SIG where he had left it on the night table, feeling the cool reassurance of metal in his palm. “This isn’t a game, dammit. How –”

“Hold on, major…” Orion cut in, making the agent wonder if he enjoyed yanking his chain. “Don’t do anything rash.”

Using the heel of his palm, Casey chambered a round with a clack. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Listen to me.” Stephen paused to ensure he had Casey’s attention. “I can hear you … your chest is hitching harder, isn’t it? I bet you just snagged your handgun too. Am I right?” he asked. “But you didn’t let me finish. Oh, they’re on your trail – don’t get me wrong. But, it’s also my trail. You see, in the past thirty-six hours, John Casey has shown up on security feeds in Phoenix, he bought a truck in Jackson, Wyoming – and oh, one more thing.” Stephen stopped to chuckle, though Casey still didn’t see what was so damn funny. “He also used a credit card to buy a pizza in Houston. Now, I hope the anchovies and pepperoni didn’t give you indigestion?”

Sitting up on the squishy mattress, Casey finally let out a breath he had been holding. 

Then, he snorted, amused with a tinge of ‘I’m impressed.’ 

“Heh. You old bastard. Not bad… not bad at all.” He set the gun down on the table and leaned back against the pillow. “But I hope you have a few more tricks up that sleeve of yours,” Casey told him. With that, he hung up and closed his eyes, attempting to get comfortable under the thin blankets again.

Hell of a lot of good that would do. There was no sleep coming to him tonight.

-x-

When the kid opened his bleary eyes and rolled out of bed, the smell of dried sweat penetrating his t-shirt forced him to recall the last time he actually felt clean. 

Two days? Maybe it was three.

Deciding that scorching water and a clean shirt would make him feel almost human, Chuck searched through the drawers of the small dresser and settled on a blue t-shirt and black cotton pants. Just to change it up a little, he muttered, slamming the drawer closed. Bringing the clothes into the bathroom, he tossed them on the counter and reached to close the door. 

“No freaking way,” Chuck whispered under his breath. He hadn’t noticed it until this very moment, but as he stood in the doorway and stared, he realized there was no door. Nothing to close him off from this insane place. Not a drop of privacy. 

Well, damn them. There were some state secrets that he was not willing to reveal. 

Hanging his clean clothes over the shower door, Chuck undressed in the stall and lobbed his dirty prison garments over the glass partition. He turned the knob – ah! too cold, too cold! – and fiddled with the dial until he found the right temperature. There. 

Splaying a hand against the cool tile to steady his legs, with his eyes drifting shut, the kid stood under the hot spray, feeling the tickle of rivulets traveling down his neck and chest… and he let himself forget about this place. Even for a lousy ten minutes. 

The sudden burst of strained voices right outside the bathroom rudely slapped him back into reality. 

“Oh, crap.” Chuck quickly turned off the faucet. “Now what?” Without the rush of water in his ears, he could recognize David’s even tenor. And the other? He tilted his head to listen. 

Dammit. Reynolds was back again. 

“Chuck?” David poked his head in. “Are you okay…? Oh… oh! Sorry!” 

“Kinda naked in here!” Water streamed down his lean body, from the brown waves plastered to his head, all the way to his calves. With a yelp, Chuck scrambled to wrap a towel, low-slung around his hips. “Do you people mind?!”

Damn! Well, there was one state secret revealed after all. Flames lapped up the kid’s cheeks as he quickly dried off and tugged on the drawstring pants. Oh, God. Now every time I see him, I’m going to remember… he saw my naked ass.

Chuck stared at the shower door. Well, he couldn’t exactly hide in there forever, could he? Though the idea was tempting, he shrugged the t-shirt over his head and stepped out of the bathroom… just in time to catch David’s equally red face. 

The young doctor cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry?” He flushed even deeper, if that were possible. “It’s just that I thought maybe you were… well, last night when you were in there –”

“I get it. You were worried, but sheesh.” Chuck scrubbed the towel over his head, and then raked his fingers through his wild, messy curls. “Next time, just knock or something.”

“Promise. It’s just that, we need to talk –”

“You girls done?”

Their heads snapped in the direction of Reynolds’ voice. Chuck gaped. Did he say ‘girls’? David simply narrowed his eyes at him.

“Because,” Reynolds went on, flipping up a piece of paper, “I have my written authorization for you, Einstein, which means, Mister Bartowski and I are going for a little walk. Hmm? So, let’s go.”

“I told you, I’m not going to be part of your testing. So leave.” Chuck tried to turn his back to them and flop down on the bed, but a surprisingly strong hand clamped like a metal band around his bicep. The kid flinched until he realized it was David who had the grip on him.

“I need to talk to my patient. In private.” The young doctor kept his eyes locked on Reynolds, but the hand on Chuck’s arm tightened.

Reynolds returned the silent pissing match for a bit, but finally shrugged. “Five minutes. Then, he’s coming with me.”

Chuck wasn’t sure where the cockiness was coming from, but he started to open his mouth to tell Reynolds where the tests could be stuffed in exactly five minutes from now. 

“After we talk,” David broke in, shaking his head faintly at Chuck, a gesture that clearly said ‘Bite your tongue.’

Frowning at him for a long moment of indecision, Chuck finally pressed his lips together and let his arm relax.

“Well, talk fast then.” With one last dirty look over his shoulder, Reynolds swiped his badge through the security reader and walked out. The split second that the door slid shut, Chuck yanked his arm free and rocked back on his heels, glowering at David.

“Why did you agree to that maniac’s testing?” A familiar spurt of panic was climbing up his ribcage. “I thought you were –”

“I am on your side,” David told him. Grabbing his shirt sleeve to keep Chuck from walking away, he moved to stand in front of the kid. “Tell me about the testing, Chuck. What they’re going to do. I know you have some idea, at least.”

“I don’t… well, I guess they might want to, uh, ensure that –”

David’s palm flew up. “Stop. I didn’t say tell me that. Geez, listen, will ya’? I can’t ask you about why you’re here, why they’re so damn interested in you, and if you tell me, the mildest thing that will happen is I get stand in front of the agency’s Disciplinary Board, and you get shipped somewhere else.”

“Then why are you asking me this? Just tell him to go to hell,” Chuck said, tugging his sleeve out of David’s fist. He put his hands on his hips and stood taller. “Can you handle that? Or do you want to talk about it?”

“Right after we talk about your stubbornness? Deal. First, the testing. Answer this… Oh, God, how do I say it without…?” David looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Is it harmful? Uh, painful?”

The kid bit down on his lips, thinking about Zarnow and his Intersect testing in the Buy More one week after his life had been turned inside out. Chuck’s mouth went dry. Painful? Well, besides the ice-pick-between-the-eyes migraine the next morning?

“No,” he said quietly, looking down to his feet.

David continued to study the kid, but Chuck could see his shoulders loosen up. “Good,” he sighed. “Then, you’re going with him.”

“What!” Chuck took a step back. “I knew I couldn’t trust you –”

“God, you are so frustrating! Has anyone ever told you that before?”

Casey might’ve said that once or twice or a million times…

Determination flashed in David’s eyes. “Yesterday? What I told you about the scientific team? And the top dogs from Langley?” 

“Yeah?”

“Well, today they brought their friends! And some of them look like they started the day with pee in their Cheerios and a speeding ticket on the way here.”

Chuck leaned against the table and folded his arms over his chest. “You are a very confusing man. Has anyone told you that before?”

“Alright, I’ll spell it out,” David said, as if talking to a small child. “You see, this isn’t the kind of place where residents get to make a lot of decisions for themselves – and frankly, most the time I couldn’t care less, because most residents are people who deserve to be here. Traitors. Scum. Real shining examples of the human population. But you aren’t one of them.” 

Chuck noticed at the worst possible time that those brown eyes of his could change color in a heartbeat. Just like that, they went from tree bark to the hue of creamed coffee when he began talking about… well, him. 

“So, I’m telling you point blank,” David went on, “that if you don’t agree to the ‘testing’ today, it won’t matter, because they will make you do it. They always do. And when it happens, it’s not pleasant. Usually drug therapy or… shit. Sometimes worse.”

“Uh… needles?” Chuck tried not to wince, to put on a warrior face, but he felt his cheek twitch.

David rolled his eyes. “That would be the least of it. Oh, and I didn’t mention, the orderlies Reynolds brought with him? Two of the biggest lumps of human matter I’ve ever witnessed are standing outside the doorway to escort you.”

“Oh…” Chuck stammered weakly. “That big, huh?”

“I guess what I’m saying is this… Since you told me that the testing is safe, and the alternative… well, that isn’t so safe – or pleasant.” David struggled to say something, but finally he tossed it out there. “I think you should go.”

“Oh, now there’s a choice.” Chuck straightened a bit, and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Wow. Maybe you’re better at this job than your parent’s give you credit for. You know, selling it? Making it sound like there’s an alternative and all.”

“In the meantime,” David replied, perturbed but obviously ignoring the dig, “I’m going to find a way to –”

“Five minutes are up.” The younger men turned to Reynolds, who must’ve been standing outside the door with a freaking stopwatch, Chuck decided. “Well?” Reynolds nodded in the kid’s direction. “Has the tantrum worked its way out? Are you ready?”

The kid rounded on him, ready to tell Reynolds what he could do with his testing and his damn permission slip from Principal Beckman, but David held up a hand before he could spit it out. The look clearly said ‘put a cork in it.’ It was a look Chuck was familiar with, actually. He glared at David for that, but after sharing the evil eye with him, he tamped down on his anger. 

“Chuck’s decided to go with you – but, first, I have some conditions.”

“Oh?” Reynolds clenched his fingers around his pen until his knuckles turned white. “Back off, Einstein.”

“For the last time, there’s an ‘en’ in there. Eisenstein, Samwise. Get used to hearing it. You’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”

Chuck couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping open, just a little, and he blinked. Did David just call Reynolds what now? For the first time since he had woken up in this damn place, he wanted to smile. Sinking his teeth down into his lips was the only way to stop the corner of his mouth from curling up. 

“Pay attention, Samwise. Two rules.” Intensity knotted David’s brows as he sauntered over to stand in the doctor’s path. The sandy-haired man stood an inch or two shorter than Reynolds, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in leaps with a brash attitude Chuck hadn’t witnessed from him. “You get two hours today. That’s it. The second rule: none of the… usual methods this time.”

Reynolds stared down at him, but when he saw David wasn’t backing away, he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Don’t worry, Eis-en-stein. You’ll get him back in the same … condition.” He gave a sidelong glance at the kid. “Let’s go.”

Chuck shifted his eyes down to his cotton t-shirt and pants – the ones that shouted inmate – and he fiddled with his hands in the pockets, fighting back a kick of dread. But when he looked up, David had settled next to him, reassuringly close, almost as good as a barrier. 

“Here. Catch.” Lurching, Chuck almost dropped what had been carefully tossed right to his hands. 

“A pair of … socks?”

“You’re going for a walk,” David said with a fleeting look at his bare feet. “You’ll be okay,” and the smile he gave him was, well, confusing.

-x-

The clang of shoes on the metal staircase forced McClure to look up from his laptop. “Well,” he huffed, eyes locked on the agent heading down the stairs. “Please, for the love of God, Webber, tell me the lead didn’t go dry.”

The agent slowed his pace and shook his head, tucking his cell phone into his jacket. “Na-da. Nothing. Sorry, sir. Dry as fucking dust.”

“Shit,” McClure muttered. “What did they say?”

“The local guys stopped by the car lot, interviewed the owners and sales people,” the other agent replied. “They swear that no one matching the major’s description bought that car, and there were no records of the transaction.” He threw a report on the conference table and slumped down into one of the chairs. “Oh, but the lady running the office had this to say when they flashed his pictures.” Picking up one of the pages, Webber read from it. “And I quote: ‘If that big bear of a he-man is still around town and available, send him my way’. Unquote.”

“Kidding me?”

“I wish.” The agent flung the report down again and sat back in his chair with his fingers linked behind his head. “I think they’re telling the truth. Hell, they have no reason to lie.”

McClure stole a glance at the police log before pushing it away in disgust. “Another dead end.” Shaking his head slowly, he stared across the room at the large map on the monitor. Then, McClure snorted. 

“What is it?” the other agent asked, watching McClure’s expression.

“Casey was never in Jackson, Wyoming. It was just another false trail. Dammit,” he hissed under his breath. 

The young lieutenant let his eyes drift over the scattering of pinpoints highlighted on the map. Specks without pattern or sequence. It was crazy. The collective agencies of the federal government, on down to the state boys and the highway police, were being led around like a dog on a leash. Sniffing shadows and false leads. How the hell was one man – Major John Casey, of all people – doing this?

McClure angled his head at the display, and after a minute, his face grew smug. “You wily bastard,” he said.

“You see something here?”

“He’s got help,” McClure announced, narrowing his eyes. “Somewhere, maybe within the agency, maybe someone with access to the inside… but it’s there. We’ve been focusing all our efforts on the outside.” Rising out of his chair, McClure stepped in front of the large map. “But, we made a mistake. We need to start looking under the covers.”

-x-

“It’s smaller than I expected. I guess the size lends that cozy feel to the space?” Chuck said, taking a tentative step or two into the room. “Oh, and the mood lighting gives it the big theatre effect, huh?”

The two gorilla-sized orderlies pretended not to hear him. Reynolds just rolled his eyes and stood in front of a huge white screen, holding an electronic pad. 

“Glad you approve, Mister Bartowski,” the doctor told him. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Chuck tried not to goggle at the grey cushioned, slightly intimidating armchair in the center of the darkened room. “Oh, no, thanks. Really. You see, I just had my cleaning a month ago, and the dentist would’ve mentioned it, don’t you think, if he – ow!”

One of the ape men clenched Chuck’s shoulder hard and shoved him into the seat. 

“Hey, no need for that,” Chuck sputtered, rubbing his shoulder. “Why don’t you borrow a dazzling sense of humor from your friend over there.” He tilted his head towards the other stony-faced man, who folded his arms over his chest and glared at him in reply.

“It’s too bad I need you awake for this,” Reynolds said, then flicked a look at one of the men. “Get him prepared.”

Thick arms reached over the kid from behind, and Chuck felt his wrists being held down while they were strapped to the armrests with plastic bindings. 

Too slow to react, Chuck just went wide-eyed at the men. “You numb-nuts!” Holy hell, where did that come from? “That’s not how this works – you don’t need to – gah!” Tugging at the bindings, the kid yelped and immediately relaxed his arms when he found that his struggles only caused the strips to dig into his skin.

“Try to concentrate, Mister Bartowski,” Reynolds ordered. “The first test is very simple. My bosses want to confirm that you are who they say you are. Please watch the screen.” A cool clammy hand on the back of his neck tightened, holding his head in place. Giving a signal, Reynolds indicated to the orderlies to slip on their dark glasses, just as he pushed a pair over his nose. 

Chuck’s brows furrowed in bewilderment. “W-wait a minute. Your bosses? They already know who I am –”

But before he could take it any further, the images began splashing over the screen in a flickering succession. Chuck blinked, too late to recover or try to turn away, and the flash hit him like a sledgehammer to the crown. His eyes became glassy, his lashes fluttered… and the oddly weighted, spinning sensation took over. 

A single perfect red chrysanthemum, a honey bee nestled between its petals…

A military parade on the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, amid a sea of green and white umbrellas…

A black sand beach with a dismembered arm washing up to shore, tangled in seaweed and jelly fish…

“The CIA used MK-ULTRA to gain control over the human behavior of –”

“The October Surprise was orchestrated by the Iranian –”

“Banque de Lavolro siphoned five billion dollars to government officials in an effort to –”

Rooted in their spots, the three men stared at him from behind their dark glasses, transfixed by the words spilling out of the kid’s mouth. 

“He’s the one,” the doctor whispered, his tone awestruck. After several minutes of listening to the Human Intersect spewing data, Reynolds touched the electronic pad to halt the images. He peered at Chuck in morbid curiosity. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, the kid shook his head, wincing in pain. “Oh God. Please tell me we’re done.” 

Reynolds leaned down to inspect Chuck’s face, and patted his shoulder. “Very good, Mister Bartowski. My bosses will be… pleased by this.”

-x-

Being stuck in a car has done nothing to ease the phantom ache in his chest. Too much time to think, to drum up unwanted mental pictures. Even the goddamn windshield wipers were taunting him by day four behind the wheel.

Chuuuckkk. Chuuuckkk.

The light drizzle wasn’t letting up, so the wipers slapped out their rhythm, making his mind wander. His chiseled jaw set tight, staring blankly over the road…

… and his brain decided now would be the time to torture him, tripping over the precise, excruciating point in time that he knew. The desperate, tumbling-head-long-jolt when he realized he wouldn’t be leaving this assignment. Ever. That his life had been irrevocably entangled, and even if he could unravel and escape this, he never would.

-x-

“Where have you been? You never showed up for your shift – oh.” Abruptly, Chuck shuffles to a stop next to the sofa, dark wide eyes sweeping over him from his legs up to his face. Dried blood, like burgundy ribbon, flecked his neck and hands, coupled with splotches of dirt crusted on his forearms. 

This time, the branding of his skin is from a bomb blast at the port of Los Angeles, one that Chuck sure as hell doesn’t need to know about. Doesn’t need to know that two agents had died in the outburst. 

“God, Casey,” he whispers. “What –?” At least the kid moves forward again after the initial shock of seeing him like this. “Why didn’t you – are you…?” 

Before Casey can open his mouth to tell Chuck its none of his damn business – though it was all about him, protecting him – the kid’s lips slam down on his, surging with anxiety, relief; draining his body into a heated kiss.

The taste of Chuck’s mouth, green apple and mint, innocence and yearning, fuels him more than the juiced-up testosterone left over from the Molotov cocktail. Holding the kid’s hips tight against him, Casey explores and demands his warm mouth. Lets himself get lost in the fierceness of the kiss, drown in it, and forgets the dirt and blood and shittiness of everything on the other side of the door. 

Chuck strokes his neck… the feel of deft hands coasting down his back, and Casey shivers. Fucking shivers. That has never happened.

The sex isn’t tender. There’s too much pent up inside, left over from standing at the brink of his mortality as the storm had erupted, and it needs to pour off. So, he takes. Bruising thrusts, a semblance of ravaging his prey. Not asking for forgiveness, or expecting permission for what he’s doing … his coarse fingertips are clenching into his flesh, cinching Chuck’s narrow hips to his… he’s plunging rough and hard. Every part of him has been set on fire, and he cracks Chuck open with deep probes of wanton greed.

Chuck’s eyes are squeezed shut; tiny beads of sweat are sprouting on his forehead. And his lips are parted, giving Casey broken little noises, murmurs of supplication. The kid sometimes played sultry dark jazz as a backdrop to sex, but now the only sounds are Chuck’s grunts that he’s pushing out of him, and his own panting, hot and ragged. He makes him lie back and take it.

That wasn’t the moment he knew. That was just a hungry dirty fuck. It was what came next.

When Casey unfolds their tangled limbs and collapses next to Chuck, with his heart thrumming in his eardrums and Chuck’s stuttering breaths filling the room, he feels it. The kid has slipped his hand, still sweaty, into Casey’s calloused one, and he tugs him out of bed. “Follow me.” 

Casey follows behind him wordlessly, because after taking him like that, right after he nearly died, is surreal and disjointed and there are no words. The kid turns on the spigot in the shower, and nudges Casey’ back, pushing him inside.

Under the spray and steaming mist, the dirt washes out of him. Chuck’s fingers are leaving a trail, heating his skin in a path he’ll see later over his chest and stomach. Brushing down the length of his spine. He rubs the back of Casey’s neck lightly, swiping a warm soapy cloth over his skin, hand resting on Casey’s hip to steady both of them. 

“Whatever happened today… can I make you forget?” He feels Chuck’s forehead, warm and wet, pressed between his shoulder blades. Shifting his gaze down, focusing on the trickling water rolling off his skin, he sees a coil of blood and dirt swirling down the drain.

“Keep going,” Casey finally manages to say, his voice husky, hoarse.

That was the stark moment that he knew.

-x-

Casey rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them he caught sight of a road mark, telling him he would hit the Sterling city limits five miles ahead. The blue traveler’s information sign welcomed him to the Home of the Historic Heritage Dairy Farm, and told him there was an Applebee’s – fucking great – right outside of town.

Heh. Isn’t that a goddamn oversight. The sign failed to mention that Sterling was also home to one of the government’s most guarded underground holding facilities. Wouldn’t the townies – the joggers and mommies pushing strollers – love to know that their idyllic tree-lined streets have that dirty little secret buried below them. 

Casey pulled the burner phone out of the cup holder, and punched in the number he had memorized by now. “Hey. I’m here,” he said.

“Record time. I didn’t expect you until tonight at the earliest,” the agent replied. “There’s a place off the beaten path, maybe ten miles up the road. The Red River Inn. Get a room there and wait.”

“If this is a set up, so help me –”

“It’s good to know that you haven’t changed one bit, Casey. You still don’t trust anyone.” 

Casey let it go. From his vantage point, he didn’t need to explain to any damn one of them that maybe he had changed. Became someone even he didn’t recognize at times.

-x-

“Welcome back, Mister Bartowski. Was it a nice trip?”

“Screw you,” Chuck grumbled, tugging at his wrists, though it hurt like hell to pull against the straps. Giving up the fight for now, he glared at Reynolds. “I hope you enjoyed the show. Usually there’s popcorn and Raisinets. Personally, I’m a Milk Duds man.”

“Glad to see your sparkling personality is still intact,” Reynolds chuckled. “But, the show isn’t quite at the final curtain yet.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Chuck tried to blink away the grainy images that continued to linger, dancing on the back of his eyelids. “I thought you got what you wanted.”

Cupping his chin in an iron-like grip, Reynolds forced the kid to crane his head back and meet his inscrutable gaze. “You’ve got it all wrong, Chuck,” he said. “You have what we want. We want the Intersect. We’re not interested in the very unfortunate human container that’s now housing it.”

“But… ah… I wish I could help you with that, but I can’t get rid of it, so –” 

“Yes, as I said, the current situation is regrettable.” The look made Chuck’s stomach clench and flip – the man had dead eyes, like a rattlesnake. 

The kid twisted his wrists against the ties again, but the taut bindings gouged his already tender skin. “Take me back to my room.”

“Soon.” Reynolds loosened his grip on Chuck’s jaw, and the kid yanked his head back and kicked out uselessly with a stocking foot.

“It’s been two hours. That was the bargain.”

“You’re in no position to bargain,” the doctor said flatly. “The silver lining, for now at least, is that we may be able to access its data more freely. You see, Mister Bartowski, the Intersect works like a one-way street. Only giving up information when the selected catalyst is present.” He paused to tap out a few commands on his touchpad. “But, with the proper stimulation, we can open it up – think of it as a two-way street, or an information highway, where data is more readily available.”

Chuck swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “How… do you plan on doing that?”

Ignoring Chuck, Reynolds turned to one of the orderlies. “He’ll need to be sedated,” he said. “Twilight only. Keep him partially awake.” 

“Sedate? Is that really necess – yow! You bastard!”

Reynolds tapped the electronic pad, and glancing down, he ruffled Chuck’s hair in a way that was patronizing. “We can’t take the risk of you calling out, kid – especially if your little friend has found a way to get on this floor.”

“But… what did you give me?! You’re no doctor. Get me out of here. I’m done.”

“I told you. Relax, Mister Bartowski. The tranquilizer will help you get through the next phase.”

“Next phase? What next phase… what’re you – ?” The words died with a choke, his mouth suddenly not working. The world was fading in and out a minute later, and the closed-in space was impossibly warm. There was nothing – no color or movement – that stood out for him. 

“Nononono …” A detached, scared voice was droning out those words. Focusing on his feet, Chuck tried to fight it, tried counting backwards from one hundred. 

What comes after ninety – three … hexadecimals…? 

“Good. He’s takes to it quickly. Hook up the electrodes.”

Large not-Casey’s- hands lifted the hem of his shirt. Long, thick fingers, like barbed hooks, scraped and poked here and there, and something cool and moist was pressed to his chest. And under his shoulder… another over his heart. 

It started as a dull ache, ratcheting higher until the burn sizzled over the small patches of skin under the tiny sensors clipped to his pecs. His eyes drifted shut… fingers curled into tight balls around the armrests.

“Bilderberg,” Chuck heard someone say.

“The Bilderberg conference attendees in 2007 planned the collapse of the –“

-x-

Chuck jolted awake. How did he get here? Oh, and while he was at it, he couldn’t forget the pesky question, where the hell was here? Lying on his side, with his knees bent, he wrapped his arms around them and sunk his head into the pillow. They had brought him back to his bed. Not really his bed, though. Not the bed he shared with Casey. 

He stared at the wall. There were times when Chuck knew he wasn’t cut out for any of this. Like now, when he was afraid as hell and his head was throbbing. The kid searched his mind to uncover the murky events of the past few hours. Flashes. Lots and lots of flashes, which explained the searing headache pounding into his skull. One of the orderlies administered a sedative. Bastard. He had tried to stop it, but he was restrained. More flashes – different ones, heavier. 

It stung. What did they do? The surface of his skin was humid, moist, but there was a tingling. No, more than a tingling. A spasm right under his pec, over his ribcage…

He curled up tighter, and scooched his head to rest against his knees.

“Chuck?” Oh, no. Why didn’t he hear the door sliding open, and soft steps approaching the middle of the room? “Are you okay?” David’s voice was faltering, careful. “What did they do to you?”

Frozen under the blanket, Chuck pretended to sleep while a prayer raced through his head, a prayer for David to please go away and leave him alone.

Because he knew what would happen. If he sat up and told David what he remembered, the testing, the young doctor would make him strip off his shirt and show him. He would prod and poke his chest with those smooth cool fingers. No way in hell would Chuck let that happen. Too intimate. Exposed more than he ever intended to another man. Another man who wasn’t Casey.

Why has Casey left him here? For the millionth time in the past few days, Chuck felt his throat swell with a lump, and that same niggling doubt edged into his mind.

Wait. It’s John Freaking Casey. He’d stand in front of a speeding bullet for you, idiot. He’ll be here.

“Chuck?” he heard softly.

The kid lay perfectly still. Time passed, weariness engulfed him, and Chuck felt himself sinking to sleep.

The last noise that ruffled his consciousness was the sound of a hollow sigh, and the door sweeping to a close as David walked out.

-x-

God, he had to stop this. But he couldn’t. The thoughts of the kid, wedged into his head for the better part of the day, were still floating behind his eyes. 

That late afternoon in their bed, so raw and vulnerable; so exposed. The churn of emotions that had rippled over Chuck’s face when he fucked him, uninhibited and impulsively, into the sheets. Dazed and blissed, but scared as hell, too…

Dammit.

Freshly showered and stretched out on the bed, the NSA agent reached for the remote and turned off the damn TV. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling. Again. Casey had checked into the Red River Inn three hours earlier, and now, he had to face the part he despised. Made him itchy and trigger-happy. The waiting.

He told himself he should get up and put on a t-shirt and some jeans, but the sensual visions today… well, shit, what would it hurt just to give himself a little good luck tug before the mission. A hand slid down to his waistband and he began to drag his boxers down over his hips –

– and the door blew open on its hinges.

Casey was decent and out of bed, his SIG aimed at the open entry, before the door had swung back. Two agents in skin-tight mission black barreled into the motel room, both with handguns pointed at his chest.

“Don’t move,” one told him, her voice tight. “Drop it, Casey.”

Heh. Fucking hilarious if they knew what he had been holding. But, having two pistols leveled at him while he was standing there in only his boxers had a way of sapping any humor out of the circumstances.

Casey remained silent, but his squint said it all. He had no intention of dropping it. A tense stand-off, punctuated only with the staccato of sharp breaths, threatened to tilt the room on an axis. 

The SIG’s laser sight danced over the intruder closest to him, until Casey poised it, deciding on a head shot this time. The pinpoint red beam, centered in the man’s forehead, didn’t seem to faze the asshat.

“Hey, Casey.” Bryce Larkin had that arrogant smirk on his face as his eyes trailed over his nemesis. “Are you concealing another weapon, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Bryce,” Sarah Walker said quietly, shaking her head, warning him to muzzle it. “Let me handle this.” 

The three agents stood in a deadly triangle; Casey cupping his hand steady on the butt of his gun, keeping his SIG trained on Bryce, while Larkin returned the favor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sarah posed in her Badass Walker stance, keeping her aim on him. Ten punishing seconds ticked by as they eyed each other, not moving or backing down.

“Looks like you’re the odd man out, Casey.” Bryce darted a look to his partner. “Sarah. Shoot him already.” Jutting his chin out, he pointed the gun higher, now at Casey’s head. “Oh, unless, on the outside chance the major wants to drop his weapon, and come in alive,” Bryce added with a grin. “Though, I would like a chance to even the score.”

“You gonna kill me twice, you little prick?” Casey growled.

“Green plaid. Nice look for you. One last chance, Casey,” Bryce replied coolly. “Drop your weapon.”

“No.” 

Larkin’s head whirled to the side, and he was fleetingly disoriented because the counter came from his partner’s lips, not Casey. “Why don’t you drop your weapon, Bryce,” Sarah demanded. If he needed convincing, her silver plated monster was pointed at his head. 

“S-Sarah? Honey… what’s going on?” Bryce looked between one to the other, giving Sarah a quick, shaky nod. “Plug him and we’ll be back on a plane to Tripoli by –”

“You don’t get it, Bryce. I’m in… with Casey.”

Bryce’s mouth fell open slightly. It was the only sign that told them the slick and always astute Bryce Larkin had actually been blindsided. “You knew? You led us here, Sarah?”

“Is there a reason you had to bring the douche with ya’?” Casey rumbled to her, hands still wrapped tight around his gun.

“He’s my partner – and he’s Bryce. There’s no way I could do this without him finding out about it.” Sarah’s blue eyes flashed in annoyance. “Besides, Casey, I know it would kill you to admit it, but if this is going to happen, you’re going to need as many pairs of hands as you can get.”

“Don’t trust the fucker.” Casey’s hand didn’t waver.

Blinking at them, Larkin tightened his grip on his Glock, but backed up a step. “Sarah, last chance to fix this. Shoot him already.”

“Sorry, Bryce. I told you, I’m going to help Casey bring… Chuck back. I owe them that much, at least.”

“You wouldn’t get that, though, would you, Larkin,” Casey said, low and dangerous, taking a step forward – and not feeling a fucking ounce of exposure because he was still standing there in his boxers. 

Let the dick get an eyeful; see what he’s up against. 

“You’re questioning my sense of duty? How the hell would you know about me, anyway,” Bryce scoffed, his gaze remaining steady. “Everything I did for Chuck, I did for a reason. It was always part of a bigger plan, and I –”

“Eh. Shut the hell up with that noble bullshit, will ya’.” The laser pointer of Casey’s gun zeroed in on Bryce’s mouth. “Jesus. Been here for five minutes and my ass is aching already.”

Sarah’s movement, blonde hair falling over a black canvas off to his left, caused Casey to shift his focus. “Are you in or not, Bryce?” she asked. “We need an answer right now.”

Casey’s mouth twitched. In nothing flat, he was struck with the realization that he missed this version of Walker. Hard as asphalt in the dead of winter and loyal to the core.

“Or what?” Bryce had found his determined calm again – the one that the little fucker had perfected. He glanced over at her but kept his gun aimed at Casey.

“You have to ask?” Casey smirked back at him. “Okay. Or, I do the same thing I’ve already done twice – but you know what they say about the third time, Bryce. It’s the charm. Meaning, this time, I get to finish the job. I’ll make damn sure it’ll stick.” 

Bryce’s shoulders barely stiffened at the dire warning, his eyes not wavering from Casey’s hard stare. After a pause so drawn out that the agent thought just maybe this was the time he was gonna get to shoot him for good, Larkin had to go and ruin it. Fuck. 

“Well… I guess I’m in,” Bryce huffed, reluctantly lowering his gun. “Got the team back together again, eh, Casey?”

The look alone from Casey should’ve killed him where he stood. “Not yet, it isn’t,” he said. “Don’t you forget that.”

-x-End Chapter Two Way Back-x-


	3. Chapter Three

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Three)

-x- 

Chuck awoke with a harsh intake of breath, that moment when his heart raced and his brain struggled through confusion to remember where he had landed. It seemed to take forever, but finally, the room righted itself, and he knew.

Realization almost forced him to hyperventilate, winding him like a fast run in sand. Because when he came to consciousness yet again in this god awful place, doubt began needling under his skin. Doubt that Casey was still looking for him. He would be stuck here underground, with the added bonus prize of being subjected to Intersect testing.

And really? Why the hell didn’t he see that coming? His investment of hours in front of a TV alone should have clued him in to this little fact: when the crazy doctor with the clipboard and orderlies the size of grizzly bears lead the test subject to the menacing dentist chair, and strap the subject in for a ride… well, there are always vials and needles and sedatives! 

He could almost hear Casey’s deep rumble, quietly telling him he’s a numb-nuts for not seeing it…

…balancing his brusque words with a passing touch on his wrist, or raking long fingers through his hair...

…Casey will be here… I know it … he would sacrifice all of it…

Trailing his fingers down the edge of the blanket, Chuck closed his eyes while his brain fed him details he didn’t even want to think about. But there they were. The irritating part was, of course, after being dosed, David had come into his room to check on him. He remembered that much, at least. Because the testing couldn’t be just about him and the sedatives, could it now? Or the forced flashes that left him with an ice pick of a headache. No, there had to be intimate humiliation heaped on top, because if David knew what they did to him, he would order Chuck – nicely somehow – to lift his shirt and show him the splotches on his skin where they had attached… well, how could he describe them? Tiny weird sensors that left a raw ache on his ribcage and chest. 

But he wouldn’t do it. No way would he look at the flaky burn marks on his skin. That would firmly place the horrible experience into his reality, and he wasn’t ready to make it true. 

Oh, and one more thing, God? There was no aspirin in the bathroom. He confirmed that awful fact when he crawled out of bed, blinking against the bright light over the sink and searching through the two sparse drawers. Nothing. Apparently, the government figured he hadn’t suffered enough.

Climbing back into bed, he wrapped his arms around his pillow and brought his knees up to his chest. The testing left him with pain, but the mortification was infinitely worse. When they strapped him into the chair, he had felt long fingers scraping and pressing something over his bare ribcage, handling him like an object. Making him feel dirty and degraded. Less than human. He was almost thankful for the sedatives kicking in right about then. It detached his body from them and the dim space and reality, leaving only a tiny part of him still in the room with those men – 

Abruptly, as dark eyes stared unseeing at the wall, Chuck was aware of the security door whispering open again. 

“Don’t come in here,” he said, his voice sounding scratchy and rough even to him. But of course, David wasn’t listening, and an easy shuffle approached the center of the room and stopped. The kid didn’t even bother to uncurl his legs and sit up. “Go away,” he mumbled louder.

“Mister Bartowski.”

“David –?” Chuck spun around, already knowing that it wasn’t him.

“Not your friend Einstein.” Reynolds stood at the foot of the bed, hands shoved into his overcoat. “One more loose end to tie up. We need you to relax again, Chuck.”

We? Chuck peeked over the doctor’s shoulder and saw a man the size of Casey plus some looking at him like a bug in a glass jar. Oh, crap. One of the jumbo sized orderlies had decided to join him as well.

“Get out. I – I’m done with your testing.” Dammit. He tried not to let the panic set into his voice, but the stutter was a freaking dead give-away. Chuck scrambled out of the bed before they could get closer, tangling his feet around one of the blankets and almost stumbling in the process, but he managed to unravel the cover and put some space between them. “Where’s David, anyway?” he asked, frowning. “He should be here for this.”

“Your… friend is having some issues with his security access today. It seems his clearance level was accidently wiped from the system. I think I heard him on ground level having a heated discussion with one of our security guards.”

“What? You did … why would you do that?” Darting a look from one man to the other, Chuck slowly stepped backwards towards the bathroom – but he realized a second too late that it was a reckless move, since he would only end up cornered in there. Then what? Shit! He sidestepped the other way, keeping his eyes locked on Reynolds. “What are you doing here, anyway? You got what you wanted.” 

“Not quite. I said you need to relax. Just hold still, kid. There’s nowhere for you to go, and no one to help you, remember?” Reynolds and the burly orderly rounded on him slowly, backing him up towards the dresser. “C’mon, Mister Bartowski… you’ll only make it harder for yourself this way,” Reynolds said.

“Go to hell,” Chuck scowled, hoping it sounded braver than he felt at the moment. Frantically, he turned, scouring the top of the dresser for anything he could hurl at them. The kid spotted a lamp and lunged for it, winding up, ready to swing it like a baseball bat –

– right at the moment biceps like bands of steel wrapped around his chest, tugging his arms down to his sides in a spine cracking hold. The lamp crashed to the floor, and air rushed out of his lungs. He kicked out wildly with his feet, thrashing against the grip… but that only earned him a brutal squeeze from the orderly, and a firm cuff on the side of the head from Reynolds.

“I admire your spunk, Mister Bartowski, but – shit!” Chuck felt a tiny swell of pride when he sunk a direct hit to the thigh, making Reynolds fall back a step. “Damn him. He kicked me. Can you hold him still, Fanelli, or is he too much for you?” 

“Scrawny little fucker has some fight in him. I’ll take care of that.” The thick arms somehow tightened even more around his middle. Oh, God… he could barely breathe! In a last ditch effort to call for help –hello! Intersect guy in trouble here – he gulped in air to let loose a holler. But Reynolds anticipated his move, and cut it off at the pass. The kid felt a hand slap down over his lips, smothering the yell before he could get it out.

“Now, we can’t have that, either,” Reynolds said quietly, pressing down hard on his lips. “Can’t alert your… boyfriend.”

Now wasn’t the time to wonder why Reynolds had called David that, because Chuck had more pressing matters at the moment… such as the mountain of bulk holding him from behind and squeezing the air out of his lungs.

Twisting his lanky body to the side, Chuck tried to wriggle his arms out of the grip, or lash out with a foot, but he knew it was a miserable effort – the combination of the Intersect migraine and the sedatives had bled him dry, and eventually he slackened his muscles and let the tension drain from his limbs. And thanks to the rough hand shoved over his mouth, the only thing he could do was huff air heavily though his nostrils and wait for the next surprise this maniac had waiting for him. 

“That’s a good boy.” Reynolds’ other hand disappeared into the pocket of his overcoat, and when he pulled it out, Chuck’s eyes blew wide at what he held. Yellowish-green colored liquid, swirling within the tube of a long syringe, floated in front of his eyes. Panicked, Chuck tried to kick him one more time, but the unyielding rope of arms around his middle only compressed further into his ribcage. 

Wait a damn second… they were going to inject him with that? 

Oh, no, no, no…

“Huh. If I didn’t witness the testing first hand, I never would’ve believed it,” Reynolds grumbled to himself. “But, you are the Intersect. Hold his arm,” he ordered, and the man behind him wrapped a hand around Chuck’s wrist and yanked his forearm out, holding it steady. The doctor sized him up while he prepared the needle. “The good news is, you passed your tests, and now we’re going to help you get out of here.”

Help him get out of here? None of this made sense to him. 

Chuck wrenched his eyes away from the frightening needle and gave him a dirty look, which did nothing to hide the fact that he felt close to losing his stomach.

“And you’re wondering, aren’t you? What we have for you this time?” Reynolds swabbed his arm carefully while the grizzly bear behind him held it steady for the doctor, and without hesitation, he stabbed the needle under Chuck’s skin. “I like to think of it as my insurance policy. But for you, kid… well, like I said, this will be your ticket out of this place.” 

“Mmmph!” Chuck’s wiry muscles went taut, and he watched hopelessly as the syringe plunged into his forearm – but there was not a damn thing he could do about it, so he gave up the fight and waited for the tube to empty.

“That’s it.” Reynolds signaled to the orderly, and the coil of muscle around the kid’s chest loosened. After a look of warning from the doctor, he removed his hand from Chuck’s mouth. “You’ll have to get over that aversion to needles, Mister Bartowski.”

“Ow! Are you nuts?!” Rubbing his hand over the injection point, he ducked backwards, his voice stammering while he attempted to muster up his courage. “You bastard! What did you do?” And why did it suddenly feel like his tongue was coated with a coppery tang, mingled with a sickly sweet taste? He swallowed, pushed it to the back of his throat. “Does the general know what you’re doing?! Or David? And what did you mean by my ticket out?”

Ignoring the babble, Reynolds dropped the syringe in a plastic bag and sealed it shut. With an overly confident smirk, he waited for the orderly to stride out ahead of him, and turned to look at Chuck’s bewildered face. The doctor winked at him. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. Try to get some rest before then.” 

-x-

“Get the fuck off my bed with those dirty shoes.”

“Touchy, aren’t we, Casey?” Bryce replied, not letting his eyes drift away from the motel room’s nineteen inch TV. Figures. Some lame ass late night show had his attention, Casey noticed with a squint. “You didn’t think Sarah and I were going to sleep on the floor, did you?”

The once rogue and now highly vaunted CIA agent – slippery little maggot – was currently the only occupant of the queen-size bed, enjoying a diet Coke and a lazy sprawl while Sarah and Casey sat hunched over her laptop at the small round table in the corner. 

“Walker, I still don’t know why you had to involve your boyfriend in this op.” Casey wasted no time stripping the ammo out of Bryce’s Glock. “We could’ve handled this just fine on our own.”

Sarah looked up from the screen, frowning at him before glancing over her shoulder at the bed. “You know he’s my partner – and he’s Bryce – which means there’s no way to shake him. Besides, I told you we could use all the help we can get on this.” 

“Help,” Casey muttered sarcastically. “That’s your idea of help. I’d rather have an Afghani warlord pull out my chest hair with a pair of rusty saw blades–”

“– And,” Sarah added, dodging her eyes down and focusing her attention on a series of high-res satellite images, “he’s … not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”

Casey bit his lip to stop the wry smile, but the commentary on that little gem came out before he could put the brakes on it. “Heh. The last time I saw you two, you couldn’t wait to get back to your old arrangement, give up the vegetarian act and … try some meat again.” He gave a sidelong glance to the man stretched out on his bed. “Chopped liver, anyway. Bet there are some juicy details in that story.”

“Still have a captivating way with the English language, hmm, Casey?” Sarah rolled her eyes before zeroing in on one of the images. “And, speaking of… meat…” Uh-oh, here it comes. “The last time I saw you two?” Oh, hell… she definitely means Chuck. “Well, you were on a tofu diet yourself, major.” Shifting her gaze away from the laptop, Casey saw an amused gleam light up her blue eyes. “What… happened? Or more appropriately, how in the world did it happen?”

Well, what a fucking surprise. Walker managed to work that into the conversation faster than her boy toy could get those damn shoes off of his bed. Reminded, Casey looked up to see the hoofs still planted there.

“Shoes. Now.” He shot Bryce a look of daggers before turning back to study the screen. “So, according to the coordinates, this butt-ugly five story office building is the above ground front for the bunker. Only there to hide the government’s dirty little –”

“Oh, no. Not so fast, killer,” Sarah cut in, giving him her full attention. “I’m not going to let you avoid my simple question. I mean, really, Casey?” Chuckling, she arched a brow inquisitively in his direction. “You and Chuck barely tolerated each other when I… left. You sniped and argued constantly on every mission. And, now? Well, I bet there are some – how did you put it? – ‘juicy details’ that I’d like to –”

“– So this north east angle of the site is showing us what exactly?” Casey broke in, pointing at another one of the images. “A parking lot?”

“Yeah, Casey.” Oh, fucking here we go again. The conversation between Sarah and Casey was just messy and awkward enough to pull Bryce away from Jimmy Fallon convincing a pedestrian on 49th street to ‘Lick it for Ten’ and stick his head in where it doesn’t belong. “I’ll share mine, if you share –”

“Walker, I will kill him.”

“Oh, come on, Casey.” Bryce sat up higher in the bed and grinned at him in that wisecrack way that made Casey want to cap him where he lay. “I thought that maybe you had lightened up a little. Maybe living with Chuck had rubbed off on you and – whoa!”

Something that large moving that fast caught Bryce without warning, and his words slid back down his throat – right about the time he felt the cool metal barrel of Casey’s SIG pressed hard into the back of his neck. With an ominous click, the safety was released. 

But looking down the tunnel at his mortality was not unfamiliar to Bryce Larkin, so the man didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch.

“Care to finish what you were sayin’?” Casey rasped, low and dangerous. Looming over him like Death, he gave Bryce a good poke, moving up to the temple with the working end of his semi automatic. “Because I’ve been looking for a reason all day to kill something, and you just handed me the perfect excuse to let out a little … frustration.”

“Casey,” Sarah said sharply, and without hearing her move from the table, the NSA agent could feel the young woman standing directly behind him. “I thought this was about saving Chuck.”

Casey froze with his finger on the brink of pulling the trigger; his heart hammering as he pushed his face close to a pair of intense light blue eyes. Keeping the barrel pressed to Bryce’s head, he half-turned to his old partner. “C’mon, Walker. You said he wasn’t your boy toy anymore. I can take care of this problem in one clean shot.”

“He’s still my partner.”

“Uh, I was only kidding there, big guy,” Bryce chimed in, offered up a charming smile that slowly faded. “I want to help him, too.”

Casey leaned in close, his mouth nearly grazing the silky black hair over Bryce’s ear, and he lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “So help me, if you do anything to screw this up, I will –”

“I get it. I get it – okay.”

The NSA agent narrowed his eyes at him, shoving the cold ring of the muzzle to his temple one more time. Because it felt damn good to do it. The only thing that would’ve made it better was to pull the trigger. “And before you ask, I’m not returning your gun to you until this is over.” Casey’s tone dared Larkin to open his mouth and argue. “She may trust you. I sure as hell don’t.”

-x-

“Getting into the parking lot is the easy part. One security guard shack. It’s more of a cover than anything – to give the outward impression of a run-of-the-mill office building.”

“What’s that lettering? Here.” Casey raised a finger and touched the screen. “Can you make it out?”

“The names of the federal agencies that supposedly have offices here. The building is passed off as the headquarters for several independent governmental agencies… Federal Maritime Commission, the NTSB … the Office of Government Ethics.”

“Ethics?” Casey snorted. “Considering what’s buried here, glad to see someone at the top has a sense of irony.”

“Here is where the op will get … complex.” Sarah switched views, flicking through grainy images of the interior reception area. “Beyond the atrium, the security level is… well, that’s where the fun begins. It’s categorized as a Level-V building. Armed officers around the clock, CCTVs, card readers with dynamic operative codes. And that’s just to get to the bank of elevators.”

“Doesn’t matter. The minigun can blast a hole as big as a fucking Volkswagen – here … and here.” Reaching over her shoulder, Casey drew an invisible line with his fingertip from one point to the other. “After that greeting, the M84 stun grenade will clear out this area –”

“What? Are you serious?” Bryce surged up in the bed and swung his legs off the side, staring at Casey in disbelief. “That’s your plan?! Go in there and blow the holy hell out of this place?”

Casey took a step towards him and squared his shoulders. “Got a problem with that, pretty boy?” 

“Jesus, Casey! Are you trying to get us all killed? This is a damn suicide mission.” He glanced past Casey to search Sarah’s face, looking for her concurrence. “Sarah, talk to him. Tell him –”

“You got a better idea? I’d love to hear it.” Casey folded his arms over his chest and turned back to Sarah. “After the detonation, we use the SCAR to take out any –”

“He’s right,” Sarah said quietly.

“I am?” Bryce leaned in closer, sounding surprised. 

“…the hell, Walker?” Casey’s head snapped in her direction, his face pinched. “You’re agreeing with the dickhead?” 

Sarah’s eyes cut away from the screen and she gave a small shake of her head. “Casey, I know you want to go in guns blazing, but in this case, I think Bryce is right. It’s too risky.”

“Fine. I’ll go in on my own, my way,” Casey told her. “No one is forcing you to be part of this. You can bow out anytime, Walker. And take the douche with ya’.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am going in,” Sarah replied, and Casey caught sight of a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t want to miss this reunion.” Leaning back in her chair, she bit the inside of her mouth, deep in thought for half a minute. “You don’t want to hear my idea?” 

“Yeah, Casey, hear her out, for God sakes, before you get us kill –”

Bryce was forced to end it there, given that the NSA agent had him by the throat before he could finish. Eyes bulging, he grabbed Casey by the wrist and attempted to remove his fingers, but Casey handled that problem by clenching down even harder. 

With the interruption now neutralized, Casey squinted at Sarah skeptically. “You were saying, Walker? Let’s hear this brilliant plan of yours.”

Sarah’s face hardened. “Not until you let him go, Casey.”

Taking his sweet-ass time to consider the choices, he gave the dillweed one more firm squeeze around his neck, and slowly loosened his hold. “Heh. Your girlfriend always fight your battles for you?”

“Are you crazy?” Bryce sputtered, drawing in a lungful of air. “You could’ve killed me, you maniac! I was only making a point, Casey.” 

“Shut it.”

Surprisingly, he did. Rubbing his neck, Bryce scooted back on the pillows, just in case the big guy got the urge to crush his windpipe again.

Two steps closer to the table, and Casey tossed Bryce’s Glock down, shifting his eyes to Sarah. “Well? What’s your idea?”

“It’s simple really.” Sarah stood up and leaned against the dresser, eyeing him in a way that told Casey she wanted to gauge his reaction. “We walk in through the front door.”

Bryce forgot about his neck, and his mouth fell open slightly. “Sarah? What are you suggesting?”

Casey said nothing at first, just giving her a steely blue stare. But, after several moments, he chuckled humorlessly and shook his head at the sheer craziness of her suggestion. “You think they’ll fall for it, eh?” he muttered. “You think the special ops security team… the agency’s most elite… will fall for the goddamn Trojan Horse?”

Sarah exchanged looks with both of the men. “Casey,” she stressed coolly, “think about it. You were the target of the largest manhunt in the country for four days. In that time, you crossed nearly a dozen state lines, eluded an army of operatives– and I still don’t know how you did it – in a muscle car that most men would willingly give up the family jewels for just to sit behind the wheel.” A smirk played on her lips. “So, will they fall for it? What do you think?”

The NSA agent watched her for a long minute before scrubbing his hands over his face in resignation. “Well,” he rumbled at last. “What I think is that the hard ass Sarah Walker –”

“What about me?”

“– and, well… her numb-nuts partner, Bryce Larkin –”

“Geez, thanks, Casey.”

“– are going to… capture a nasty rogue agent as he attempts to enter the Sterling facility tonight. They’ll have no choice but to bring him in… and to conveniently stash him there until the transport team arrives.” Casey sat down at the table and fiddled with one of the clips before lifting his head, leveling a hard gaze at Sarah. “I just hope that they’re blind enough not to see through it.”

But, for the first time in days, Casey felt a small sliver of hope heating his belly. 

This has to work. For Chuck’s sake.

-x-

Lieutenant Brandon McClure prided himself on possessing a certain savvy when it came to the dirty underbelly of the agency. 

When the op went to shit, it was how things really got done. It wasn’t about following protocol, working through the management chain, or transparency in actions. It was about who owed you for kissing their ass or sucking their cock along the way, and calling in the favors.

That’s why it took all of about the time to pinch one off for him to figure out where the major was getting his dick serviced. It had to be that bitch who went by the name of Sarah Walker during her stint in Burbank. 

All the pieces fit. She was the only operative who had been able to last more than two weeks with the big prick… which meant, Sarah Walker was with him long enough to perhaps penetrate his gruff exterior. Get a look at his soft spot. Because it’s there, concealed beneath the brittle layers that make up the mighty John Casey. Yeah, Walker got her eyes full. Saw his chink in the armor – his weakness. Right before his goddamn asset did the same thing.

“General, I know how he’s doing it.” McClure stood ram-rod straight next to the conference table in Castle. The cavernous base was nearly barren after four days of shut down activities, but the lieutenant had chased away the clean-up crew and requisitioned the space for his own use. Made it his own sophisticated war room to track all operational proceedings in the effort to bring down the major. “I know how he’s evaded our agents.”

“Well, lieutenant.” Beckman continued to read over a report without bothering to look up at him. “Do you care to enlighten us?”

“It’s Sarah Walker, ma’am. She’s helping him.”

Funny. Now that got his boss’s attention. In fact, he may have caught her blanch at the name. 

Tossing the report off to the side, the general rested back in her leather chair and fixed her eyes on him. “Explain yourself, McClure.” There was a distinct caution in her tone that wasn’t there a minute ago. “But before you go on, I suggest that you carefully consider what you’re implying. These are serious allegations. Keep in mind that Agent Walker is one of the top CIA agents and she has a meticulous service record.”

McClure told himself that it would only be natural for her to question him, to voice her doubt. Meeting her inquiring look head on, he smoothly pointed out why Casey could not be acting alone on this, and why Agent Sarah Walker was the only one who would give a rat’s ass enough to help him. 

The general steepled her fingertips together and listened intently. And behind her hazel eyes, McClure could almost see Beckman’s thoughts zinging around in her head. 

What the hell? She’s not telling him something. 

“Ma’am?” Jesus. Now it looked like the general had fucking zoned out for a second. “Your orders? Do we bring her in for questioning?”

Beckman looked off to the side at first before locking her eyes with his. “No,” she said flatly. “I must admit your hypothesis is… thought provoking. If Major Casey is still AWOL in forty-eight hours, we’ll revisit your suggestion. But for now, we continue with the current operations.”

“But, ma’am, I think –”

“That is all, lieutenant.” The video link ended before he could open his mouth again. McClure eyed the blank screen and dragged his fingers through his spiky hair. “What the hell?” he spit out, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls. That bitch is up to something. 

-x-

General Beckman stood up and looked out her window, taking in the expansive view of the Capitol Building on a grey, drizzly day. McClure’s words of warning rung in her head. But Walker would never two-time the agency, she told herself. The general hadn’t worked her way to this office, clawing over the backs of others in her way, by misjudging the character of her associates or officers. In all her career, she had never made an error that grave. 

It couldn’t be true. The young woman knew enough to get out of Burbank before she became too entangled. She doesn’t know how to fail. 

Sarah Walker will bring in John Casey. 

-x-

“So… are you telling me that that was your plan? To go in there like Dirty Harry, crocked on testosterone and skunk piss, and blow the joint to bits? That was your plan to save my son?” 

Jesus H. Christ on a cracker… well, that set him off. Casey pinched the bridge of his nose and held the phone a few inches from his ear.

“I knew I should’ve been there, shoulda got in the car with you.” 

The NSA agent fought off a cringe. Travel three thousand miles trapped in a car with the kid’s old man. He’d rather schedule an appointment to have his nether region waxed by a sumo wrestler. Less painful.

“Are you still there?” 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Casey grumbled, settling his back against the wall. He had moved outside to make this cozy phone call, and from his position next to a thicket of spruces, he had a fair line of sight into the motel parking lot and the road out front. “You done?”

“Hell no, I’m not done. This is the type of operation that needs stealth,” Stephen went on. “Someone like me, not –”

“– Did you hear a fucking thing I just said?” Sonovabitch. Dropped the f-bomb on Chuck’s dad. Again. Suppose I’ll have to hear about that later too. 

He could almost hear Orion bristling. “Maybe you need to explain it again slowly for us old codgers, major, so that I can hear the part about the suicide mission one more time.”

Casey drew in a steadying breath and counted to ten – very slowly – and started again. “I told you, that plan was … vetoed.” Walker. Eh. 

“Okay. Good, good. Glad someone – whoever you’re working with – can see this objectively. Now tell me every detail,” he demanded. “You still need my special skill set.” And he wasn’t asking.

Headlights from a red pick-up truck swept over the side of the motel, and the vehicle came to a stop a few doors down. Casey ducked around the corner of the low building, leaning against the night-cooled bricks, and waited for the men to find their room key.

Needing his special skill set? Well, that depends on who you talk to.

-x-

“Alright, then. It’s settled. Three hours and we go in.” Sarah pulled up a pant leg and strapped on a set of knives over her lean calf. “You never did tell me – how did you … pull it off? The diversions. It was high tech. No offense,” she smiled, smoothing the Velcro closure. “But that’s more Chuck’s MO than yours. It’s not you, Casey.”

Unzipping a black canvas bag, Casey began stacking up ammo to turn over to Walker. They both knew there would be screening devices at the checkpoints, so the NSA agent would have to walk in stripped of weapons until they cleared the security barriers. It made him feel naked, exposed, not to have the SIG stuffed in his waistband, but it was the only way to get in undetected.

“Well?” she prodded. Her eyes roved over to the bed, where Bryce was lying on his side, presumably sound asleep. “You know by now you can trust me.”

He squinted at her for a moment before starting to disassemble the P226, and gave in with a shrug of his shoulder. “Chuck’s dad.”

“What? Chuck’s … dad? He did this? He must be some kind of –”

“– Heh. I can think of about ten different ways I want to end that sentence. None of them suitable for prime time. Trust me on that, sister.”

“I see.” The blonde had to bring her vending machine coffee up to her lips to hide the smile. “That has to be a fascinating little triangle…? Considering that you… and Chuck are –”

“Pass me the block of C4, will ya’?”

“You have to leave your favorite toys at home this time, Casey.” Taking the C4, she put it back in the bag. “Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it. But, you need to call him.” Sarah tilted her head towards the cell phone sitting on the night table. “Get your burner and dial him up.”

“You kidding? Now?” Casey dropped the slide and cartridge. Climbing to his feet, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Nuh-uh. Why the hell would I call him?”

Sarah was silent at first, but she rose from her chair and stood in front of him, mirroring his stubborn stance. “Because if he’s as good as I think he is, we can use him tonight.”

“No.” Casey angled his head and made a show of boring his eyes into hers. Past experience told him that most men would flee under the heat of that fierce look. “Not… happening.”

Sarah Walker wasn’t most men. Putting her hands on her hips, she stood on her tip-toes and met his stare pound for pound. “Casey,” she said, determination edging into her voice. “We need him tonight for the op. We can use his help.” 

“Did Larkin fuck your eardrums out before you ditched him? Because I don’t think you heard me say no.”

“I’m going to ignore that, Casey, because I know that this is an emotionally charged situation for you,” she hissed. “But if you don’t call him, I’m going to –”

“You’ll what?” Casey put his hands on his hips, giving her a mutinous look. 

“Yeah, you’ll what?” Oh hell, the asshole wasn’t sleeping after all. Bryce had rolled over on his back, listening intently, a smug grin on his face. 

Walker looked flustered only for a beat before she rocked back on her heels and drummed her fingers on her arm. “If you don’t agree to involve your whatever-the-hell-he-is,” and she skimmed her eyes over the NSA agent’s scowl, “I’m going to tell Bryce about …”

The whisper was muffled, but he was able to pick out the key blackmail words. One of them was clovers. 

Casey grunted. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh?” Sarah turned towards the bed and cocked her head mischievously. “Bryce, did I ever tell you that Casey has a special set of monogrammed scissors just for his collection of –”

“Fuck! Stop right there. God dammit, you win…this time, Walker. I’ll call him. Happy now?”

Sarah grinned up at him. “Yes. For now, anyway.” With one last pointed look that warned him he better not try to get out of it, she took her seat at the table to finish strapping on the other set of knives. 

Casey grabbed his burner off the table and headed out the door. No way in hell was he having this conversation in the room with Walker and Larkin nosing in on his business. 

-x-

“Remember? Remote tech support? Chuck is my son.” Stephen Bartowski wasn’t backing down. “You can’t keep me out of this.”

Yeah, thanks to Walker.

Casey’s head landed against the wall with a thunk, and he blinked up at the inky sky, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. For the first time since he had stepped outside, he noticed that it was a misty, starless night. 

Still miles better than what Chuck was looking up at tonight.

“Well?”

“Cool your jets, old man. We need your help after all.”

-x-

The moment it veered into the parking lot, James Orr felt his spine nearly vibrate with anticipation. This is why he joined the agency, god dammit. Not to sit behind this security desk, working a shitty graveyard shift, eyes stuck on a bank of monitors that displayed every corner of the five story building in six second intervals. Bricks, mortar, asphalt. Utter nothingness. 

Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Every few months, there were very secretive deliveries from the agency, but he had been thoroughly briefed on his role when the vans pulled up in back. Call an operative to escort them to the elevators; ‘them’ being the transport team and a poor sap hooded or sometimes out cold on a gurney. After that, he turned a blind eye, kept his mouth shut, and waited for the next delivery. Sometimes a month or two went by, and during that time? Zilch. 

Until now, that is. 

Because, by appearances, some too-good-to-be-true shit was going down in the parking lot tonight. Something to break up the monotony. James stood up to peer out the atrium windows, past a potted ficus, before shifting his eyes back to the monitor to see if he could pick up on anything else.

Damn, that was a fine car too. A muscle car from the seventies with its headlights off. But what the hell was it doing here this late at night? 

As he reached down to hit the switch on his comm, another movement out of the corner of his eye forced him to turn his head. Now what? A nondescript black sedan pulled in next, stopping about twenty-five yards from the muscle car. James could feel a flutter of excitement in his stomach when two people launched themselves out of the vehicle and approached the first car. And, holy shit, they had their guns drawn, actually pointed at the big mother behind the wheel of that sweet ride.

Oh, this just got good. 

Transfixed by the incident, Orr jerked his head when he realized he had forgotten to make the call. The guard grabbed the comm. “Get your ass out here, we have company…. Hell, yes, I’m serious!”

Glancing at the CCTV screen, James watched the take-down – damn, an actual take-down! – unravel right in front of his eyes. A man the size of a linebacker climbed out the muscle car, looking like he may make a run for it, but the two in the sedan kept their weapons pointed at his back, and after some shouting that he couldn’t make out, Mister Linebacker at last raised his hands, outstretched in the air.

Where the hell was the back-up team?! Jesus, we trained weeks at Quantico for a situation like this, and these guys are AWOL when the time comes?

Orr scrambled to put his hand on his gun – just when he saw the two slap a pair of handcuffs on the big one. Police? Agents? Who the hell were these people? Ready to burst out to the parking lot, armed and ready, the guard almost tipped over an entire mug of coffee when he saw the three strangers approaching the doors to the atrium.

“Move!” one of them shouted at the big guy, shoving a gun into the middle of his back. 

“Open the door.” The man with dark hair held up a badge against the glass. The blonde kept her gun pointed at the huge man in cuffs, and held up a similar badge. CIA. 

Behind him, the door flew open, and Orr whirled around and scowled. “It’s about time you got your ass here.”

“Who the hell are they?” The agent who had finally joined him nodded towards the atrium door. “Why are they… oh, my God.”

“What?” James stepped out from behind the desk, peering at his co-worker. “They say they’re CIA. Do you –”

“It’s John Casey, you dumbass!” the other agent cut in. “Were you jacking off during the debriefing yesterday? That’s him!”

“But who are the others?”

“God dammit, does it matter? They’ve got him in custody. Let ‘em in.”

“Okay, okay…” Orr muttered, reaching behind the desk to hit a switch. When the door buzzed, the two agents shoved the man through. 

“Easy, easy,” the younger man said, lowering his weapon. “I’m Agent Larkin, and this is my partner, Agent Walker.”

Walker looked up and pressed the muzzle of her gun against the captive’s bare neck. “And, this, in case you’re wondering, is John Casey.” She pointed a self-satisfied smirk at his scowling face. “Say hi to the nice men in uniforms, John.”

-x-

“Well, where else do you think we should stash him until Beckman’s transport crew gets here?” Bryce asked the security agent as they milled about the desk. “Leave him out in the car with us? Maybe we can all sing along to the oldies together. Would you like that, Casey?”

“Fuck you, Larkin.” Heh. Maybe all of this was an act, but that sure as hell wasn’t. 

In reply, Bryce dug his gun into Casey’s ribcage. “Now that’s no way to talk to your new best friends, big guy. We need you on your best behavior,” he chuckled. “The pleasant men with the guns pointed at you say that we’re only guests here for a few hours. Until the agents in the shiny armor truck get here. Then, you get to go to the pen. Capiche?”

The asshole was laying it on thick. Oh yeah? As they rounded a corner, Casey decided he would take a turn at playing the role of hostile prisoner. Just like that, his elbow came up, jutting straight into Bryce’s chiseled chest. Take that, you weasel.

“Hey, hey! Stand down, you big bastard,” the guard barked, dragging him by the cuffs to put some space between him and Larkin. He pivoted around to face Bryce and gave a good tug on the cuffs as a warning to Casey not to try that shit again. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” Bryce wheezed, massaging his sternum. “He looks big, but trust me, he’s got a light touch. Really, just a big pussy. Right, Casey?” He slapped him heartily on the back.

Note to self. Bryce Larkin dies a horrible, bloody death when this little charade is over. 

The chime of the elevator put an end to the bickering as the rag tag crew of two agents, a security guard and the government’s Enemy Number One piled in. “You two don’t have me fooled,” Sarah said, wrinkling her nose playfully as the door slid to a close. She watched the guard swipe his badge and press a button, taking them to a lower detention level. “Maybe we should give them some time alone together?” 

The man snickered. Casey growled. Bryce pretended to work on a hang nail.

When the door swept open a half minute later, two things happened at once. 

Casey’s elbow whipsawed up, smacking the guard with a direct hit to the larynx. Sarah Walker’s chop caught him on the back of the neck, a whir of black and blonde. The blunt force sent him crumpling to his knees and he toppled down on his side, out for the count. 

“Wow, you two have some anger issues,” Bryce deadpanned, sauntering out of the elevator. “Where to next?”

Stepping around the unconscious security guard, Casey moved to block his path. “A pussy?” he sneered, narrowing his eyes at Bryce. “You called me a pussy? Sarah, get the key to the cuffs from him. Now.”

“Uh, boys?” Sarah bent down and latched onto one of the man’s ankles. “Can one of you grab a leg?”

“Little tough without the keys.” Casey turned sideways to demonstrate his predicament, rattling the cuffs. “Move your ass and help her, Larkin. Then bring those damn keys.”

“Holy… what does this guy eat, anyway?” Bryce huffed, yanking on one of his legs. “Kibble and raw meat?” Each taking a leg, they managed to drag him out to the hallway and send the elevator back up before the alarm sounded. 

“Bryce, find a utility closet or a stairwell. Somewhere we can stash him.” Sarah surveyed the empty corridor before flicking a look at her partner. “Oh, hang on. Casey’s right. First the keys.” She held out her palm, waiting for Bryce to cough up the keys to the handcuffs.

Instead, Casey turned in time to see Bryce Larkin back up a few steps, and he raised his hands in a placating gesture towards his partner. “Sarah.” He let his gaze slide over her face. “I think it would be best if we discuss this first.”

“Discuss what, Bryce?” Her brow crinkled, and she waggled her fingers at him. “Give me the keys.”

Pissed that his hands were still restrained behind his back – keeping him from finishing the job once and for all – the NSA agent took a threatening step towards Bryce. “Oh, you little back stabbing piece of shit…” Casey’s look was implacable, and he shook his head in disgust. “I know what this is about.”

“Bryce?” Sarah nudged Casey to get around him, slipping into the spot between him and Larkin. Her ice blue eyes belied a hint of confusion. “What… are you doing?”

“Baby… think about it.” Bryce looked past her shoulder, eyeing their prisoner, and he held out his palms defensively. “We can still stay clean with the agency. They’ll never need to know about the meeting with Casey… that we had toyed with the idea of helping him out.” 

“Are you suggesting…?” Sarah stopped and gave him a look. “We lock him up now?”

“… son of a bitch,” Casey snapped. “I knew I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. All three times, you groveling bastard.”

“Not asking for your input on this one, Casey.” Disturbingly calm, Bryce settled next to Sarah. “We have him, Mrs. Anderson. Right here! He’s cuffed, no weapons… he has nobody to help him. We can turn him in.” He gave her a pleading smile. “Picture it: Walker and Larkin collect the accolades for a job well done, and we catch the first plane back to Tripoli.” Reaching out to touch her arms, he brushed his thumbs right above her elbows, and trailed his hands down to hers. “C’mon, Sarah. What do you say? Let’s do this, sweetie.”

Sarah looked down at his hands for a long moment, and gave them one tender squeeze. “I see what you mean.” Raising her head, she met his gaze dead-on, her eyes brimming with heat – and her face froze.

Casey knew that look… He stood absolutely still, holding his breath.

“Bryce?” she said quietly.

“Hmm?”

By the time Casey moved to kick Bryce in the leg, he caught a blur of black, set off by pale skin, then a fist lashing out –

– and CIA agent Bryce Larkin was lying like a bear rug on the floor.

Casey tried not to stare. Or smile. 

Well, not too much anyway. 

“Asshole.” Sarah eyed the tangle of limbs and heaved a sigh. “You never change, Bryce,” she murmured to herself. “Casey was the best damn partner I ever had. He has me helping him out, that’s who.” 

Clearing his throat dramatically, Casey turned to the side and pulled on the cuffs. “The keys? Oh, and Walker,” he chuckled, toeing Bryce’s thigh to see if he would twitch. (He didn’t.) “Remind me never to piss you off, eh?”

“You did it plenty of times, Casey,” she replied, flipping out each of Bryce’s pockets methodically until she found the keys to the cuffs. “Turn around.” The cuffs popped off, and she stuffed them into her pocket.

“Now get your father-in–”

“– Fuck no. Don’t you dare call him that.”

“– on the line, and make sure he was able to hack the monitoring system and loop the video feeds through the CCTV. We don’t need Ranger Rick up there at the front desk getting an eyeful, hmm?”

“Fine,” Casey grumbled, moving down the hallway a dozen paces or so to get out of earshot. “He had better come through with the location. We can’t search this entire base. Like a goddamn needle in a haystack. Hey,” he said into the phone when Stephen Bartowski answered. 

“Are you in?”

Casey looked over his shoulder to see that Walker was busy searching the unconscious guard for his badge. He let out a huff of relief and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Yeah, we’re in. Now show me that you’re half as brilliant as you say you are. The video loops?”

“Child’s play. I already started the feed to the monitoring system. Your security guard upstairs will see the base exactly as it was one hour ago.”

“The room?”

“I think I have it.”

“You think so?” Casey straightened his stance and glimpsed down the hallway, one way, and then the other. “This base is the size of a fu – football field, we have about ten minutes before someone pulls their head out of their ass and figures out what’s going on… and you think so?”

“Casey,” he heard from behind. Slanting a look at Walker, he saw the blonde using the badge to open a door along the hallway. “Here, give me a hand. I’m going to need some help getting them out of the way. And,” she lowered her voice and grinned up at him, “try to be nice to Chuck’s dad, okay?”

He thought he heard Walker snicker when she turned her back.

Casey scowled at her – wasted effort since she didn’t turn around. “Well?” Sweat prickled on his skin as he clutched the phone. “Where the hell is Chuck – or are you going to make us play twenty questions?”

“Damn.” Orion didn’t answer for a second. “I suppose it’s a good thing in the long run, but you do get touchy when it comes to protecting my son.”

By now, Casey was unable to contain his temper. “The room number!?” Nerds!

“Whoa, whoa.” Cripe. Now the old man sounds affronted. “This is what I’ve got. Each time a badge is used in the facility, it’s tracked digitally in the access control system. The records can be used later to track deviations if there’s a security breech. So, I –”

“– Either skip the nerd-speak or talk faster,” Casey grit between his teeth. Putting his hand out, he gave Sarah an exasperated look as she slapped his SIG in his palm. “Which room?”

“If I go back in the records by one week, there is a room on the fourth level containment area that had no activity. Until early Sunday, as if preparing the room,” Orion told him. “Since Sunday, according to card traffic, that room has been Grand Central Station. That’s gotta be it.”

“And?” Casey heard plastic cracking, and he took that as a sign to loosen his grip on the burner phone. “Tell me ya’ got it.”

“Room four oh seven.”

“Four oh seven,” Casey repeated. He disconnected the call without another word.

Sarah dropped the guard’s ankle and put her hands on her hips. And, fucking great, she raised that damn accusatory brow at him, giving Casey the look. “That was rude, even for you, Casey,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t wait to hear what he did to piss you off like that.”

“Speaking of rude,” Casey smirked, nodding towards Bryce’s immobile form. “Is that any way to treat your boyfriend? A hook to the jaw?” 

“I told you, he’s not my boyfriend,” Sarah informed him, her brows bunched up in annoyance, and she bit down on her lip. Now that’s gotta be a fond memory, he figured. “We need to get them out of the hall way.”

“You found a place to store ‘em?” 

“There’s a stairwell – here. Next to the elevators.”

“You take Bryce.” Casey bent down and grabbed the guard’s ankle. “The dickhead is a feather compared to this guy.”

To his side, Casey caught Sarah’s wistful expression, peering down at Bryce’s pale face. Better to just keep his mouth shut this time, he thought, as they managed to drag the unconscious men into the stairwell, leaving them in a heap in the corner.

“Fourth level?” 

“Yeah. At least we think so.” 

“Be nice.”

Casey grunted.

“And, you know what? I actually miss that sound,” she replied, not quite hiding a small grin. “This way.” Sarah began to climb the stairs, but Casey put his hand out to stop her, and nodded once at the darkened stairwell below them. 

“We’re underground, so the fourth level is heading down, not up,” he said, spiteful. “Those bastards buried him deep. Let’s go.”

-x-

“Four thirty-one… twenty-eight… this way, this way…” Casey took off in a sprint down the main hallway… dodging around a corner, taking a corridor that split and having to back track… Shit! Footsteps clattered behind him, Sarah Walker in an even dash and watching his back. Though he would be loathe admitting it aloud, the woman most likely could outrun him in a footrace, but she was being careful to stay a step or two off his heels.

“Casey.” Walker’s footsteps were slowing, and the NSA agent turned around in time to catch the badge being lobbed underhand to him. “It’s the next one. I’ll wait here and keep watch for any uninvited company.”

In the dim light of the hallway, he saw Walker look past his shoulder and tip her head towards the door. ‘Go get him,’ the motion said. Wordlessly, Casey nodded in silent appreciation. And maybe a healthy dose of apprehension too, because when he touched the door, his chest hitched and he felt a burn in his gut. God, what if they were wrong? 

Closing his eyes briefly with uneasiness – not fear not fear – flickering through him, he hoped Sarah didn’t notice him swallow hard. Swiping the badge through the card reader, he held his breath, and waited for the click.

-x-

The damn syringe. One thing was certain: the ugly concoction swirling in the clear tube, and then injected into his arm, was meant to harm him in some way. It hurt like hell already; a dull ache leeched into his muscles, and his lungs felt heavy, as if fluid was pooling in them. 

Why would they do this to him? Wasn’t he still their only Intersect?

Sleep was hard to come by. Chuck focused blankly at the wall and gave himself an inner pep talk, despite his shivering and his stomach roiling. “Just coming down with a cold… just a cold…” he tried to tell himself through chattering teeth. 

Pulling his knees up to his chest and snuggling deeper under the blanket, he listened to the hum of cool air siphoning through the ventilation… and Chuck felt his eyes slowly drifting shut.

Then, goose pimples raced down his back when he heard a metallic click.

Oh crap. And whoever it was, they’re not going away, because the next noise he heard was the rustle of fabric and the soft sweep of footsteps from the other side of the room. The kid curled into his long limbs, and buried his head in the pillow. “Go away,” he said, muffled. “I don’t wanna see anyone right now.”

Chuck shut his eyes. The footsteps came to a stop at the side of the bed, and he listened to ragged breathing somewhere above him.

“That so?” It was a voice as familiar and warm as a hand knit blanket. A bath of heat and comfort all at once. “Because you see, kid, I went through hell and back to get here, and I was … kinda hoping you’d come home with me.”

Cautiously, Chuck opened one eye, and still staring into black space, he waited for his dream, one of a million that had tortured him since his arrival, to stop talking to him. But, was it another taunt, or was John Casey standing in his room –

Chuck bolted upright in bed. “Casey?” he sputtered into the shadows, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Before he could open his mouth and slash his dreams to bits, the kid felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him like a vice. 

This wasn’t a joke, because the grip that stole breath from his lungs only meant one thing. It was the orderly, the one as big as a mountain, and he had returned to hurt him, or inject him, or do God knows what to him. 

“Not this time,” Chuck managed without choking. In a move that he hoped took the big man by surprise, the kid kicked wildly, lashing out with his legs and fists, and finally caught the man on the meat of his thigh. “Let go of me, you asshole!” and Chuck was suddenly pleased to hear his attacker let out a sharp ‘oof’ when his heel landed with a well placed kick to the knee.

It was a short lived victory lap, Chuck realized. The man grunted, and in response to the kick, the powerful arms bunched up tighter, holding him hot and fast. 

Holy shit, no. With a yelp, Chuck sucked in a huge lungful of air, preparing to let out a whoop that could be heard at ground level –

“Jesus!” Warm lips pressed to his ear, and large fingers threaded through his dark curls to steer his face up, forcing him to look into Casey’s eyes. “Keep still, will ya’, Bartowski. It’s me, for chrissakes!”

All of his fight came to a screeching halt and Chuck sagged in his arms. “Casey?” He shook his head to clear it, letting his brain catch up, but the apparition was still standing there. 

A black polo shirt stretched over bulky muscle… arms as big as tree trunks pressing him to a broad chest. Black scuffed boots … eyes the color of the sea at dusk.

The kid blinked. After a long moment to get his wind back, a crooked goofy grin crept over his face. He reached out and stroked a hand up his boyfriend’s forearm, feeling the familiar tickle of hairs against his palm. Confirming that the flesh was real. 

“What … took you so long?”

Casey’s look of weariness gave way to a loose, lazy smile, and coarse knuckles brushed his cheek. Then, the agent shrugged a large shoulder at him. 

“Traffic on the six forty was a bitch, kid,” he said, dropping a kiss in a mess of curls.

-x-End Chapter Three Way Back-x-


	4. Chapter Four

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Four, Part One)

-x-

Chuck rubbed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer that the vision of Casey wouldn’t evaporate when he looked up again. Nope. Still here. And blinking at him, Chuck’s high beam grin grew in brilliance. “Traffic?” 

“Yeah, you heard me. Otherwise I coulda made it here by Tuesday. I hear that’s pot roast supper day in this joint.”

Smartass. Chuck flipped off the blankets and climbed out of bed, still grinning. “Well, maybe you should use the traffic app I loaded on your phone. Remember?”

Casey snorted, moving in close enough for the kid to breathe in his aftershave, get a whiff of worn leather, heated skin. “Damn sassy for a man in a bunker, don’t ya’ think?” His lazy smile stayed put –and holy hell, Chuck thought. It looked damn fine right there. “Wanna show any appreciation to the guy who’s going to get you out of here, Intersect?”

The question was wasted. Chuck was already launching himself at his boyfriend by the time Casey could finish the thought. Impulse taking over, the agent’s muscled arms shot out just in time to catch his asset’s lean body; the kid wrapped his arms around Casey’s broad shoulders and pressed their bodies together, sinking into his warmth. 

“Damn, I missed you,” Chuck whispered, his voice hoarse. Touching his forehead to Casey’s, his brown eyes raked over the agent’s face, still in disbelief that his lover was there in the flesh. “… are you going to kiss me?”

Instead of leaning in and taking the kiss, Casey gave him a long look, and the smile dissipated a bit. “Uh, kid, first, I should tell you that –”

The words were a quiet push over the edge. “Do you ever shut up?” Pausing only to grin one more time, Chuck dove for his mouth and opened himself to Casey, hot and insistent. When Casey attempted to pull back – why is he doing that? – Chuck’s tongue immediately moved in, pushing in, giving him a long deep taste of hunger and relief. Spreading his fingers wide over his boyfriend’s bulky chest, the kid dug his fingertips into the rigid muscle, a familiar touch to convince his brain this was real. It is. “God, you still feel as good as I remember,” Chuck said in a bare murmur, moist lips against his.

“Jesus –” Casey took a breath and drew back slowly. “Like the way you appreciate, kid… but –”

But? What the …? Hell, didn’t matter. Whatever had Casey tense for a half-second was not going to stop him from kissing his boyfriend one more time, right? Lurching forward, he fit their mouths together in one slow swim of a kiss, a thumb brushing the bare skin over his collar. And maybe the kiss wasn’t polished or smooth, but, dammit, Chuck needed this right now, to show him what he missed most, and he poured every swirling emotion into it.

Casey parted his lips, wasn’t fighting it anymore.

When the kid pulled back from the kiss, he lowered his head and swept his lips over Casey’s chin, rough stubble on his cheek, before biting down lightly on the long tendon of his neck. “You taste good, too,” Chuck said, ghosting breath against his neck. 

“Missed you too, numb-nuts,” Casey breathed, closing his eyes and letting himself relax into the swipe of lips, moist under his ear. Without thinking, the agent’s large hands skimmed up inside Chuck’s t-shirt, calloused fingertips scraping the warm skin of his ribcage. But for a reason Chuck couldn’t begin to fathom, a beat later, Casey clenched his fingers into Chuck’s hips, and the heated body was moving backwards a step. “Can’t, kid… we have to get out of here, and there’s something I need to tell y –”

“Chuck?”

Goddamn it, there was no way it could be… Chuck’s head jerked up, a knot in his chest drew tighter. That voice. A soft tone from the past that had been indelibly imprinted in his mind, no matter how hard he had tried to drive it out.

“Oh, my God.” Twisting violently out of Casey’s hold, Chuck yanked his shirt down – it had somehow gotten rucked up in the past thirty seconds – and jumped backwards. The leap nearly caused him to land on his ass when he hit the edge of the bed, but Casey’s arm flew out to grab the kid’s shoulder, steadying him on his feet. 

Sarah Walker, a vision of black and blonde and badness, stood in the doorway, her Smith and Wesson fisted in her hand. For just a flash, the kid saw her jaw hinge open, and she stared wide-eyed at them. But, just like that, she found her composure again.

“Chuck,” Sarah repeated, her eyes drifting from one man to the other. The pert tilt of her head only emphasized the smile she was attempted to bite back. “Um, hi… there. It’s – ah – good to see you.”

“S-Sarah?” Chuck stammered, turning to look at Casey with a face full of disbelief, before locking eyes with her again. “What – what are you doing here?!” 

Glancing around the room at first, Sarah nodded in Casey’s direction. “He called me,” she replied, the small flicker of a smile growing. “I promised him…before I left… that I would take this mission if it ever came down to this. If they ever… made the decision to take you away from your family. Your friends.”

Chuck blinked, still trying to grasp the presence of Sarah Walker – in his room, in an underground bunker… with Casey... 

…watching them while they kissed. Oh, God.

“You… you still look good, Sarah.” Still look good? Moron! What kind of a thing is that to say? Of course she still looks good!

“And you still blush adorably, Chuck.” Her eyes roved over him in a good-natured tease. 

Casey scrunched up his eyes. “Are we done with the idle chit-chat, girls? And, Walker, get that look off your face.”

“Oh, come on, Casey. Give a girl just a minute here to absorb it, okay? I mean, the last time I saw you two, you were poking and sniping at each other, and now? Well, I knew it had to be true, but to see – you know, the two of you together like that… it’s just ... wow. Kind of sweet, actually.” 

Casey closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck. I knew this was going to happen.”

“And, I seem to remember so many comments about my peanut butter and Bartowski’s chocolate.” She gave Casey a sly grin and winked at both of them. “Looks like you acquired a taste for it yourself, Major.” 

The smart-ass wink made Chuck’s blush brighter, and he quickly shifted his eyes down to his feet. But Casey simply folded his arms over his chest and glared at her with steely blue eyes.

“Stuff it, Walker. What I do with my sweet tooth is my own damn business.” The NSA agent pointed a dirty look at her, and turned to survey his boyfriend from head to toe. “You okay? Or am I gonna need to carry your ass out here.” Grazing a hand over the back of Chuck’s neck, he squinted at the kid. “Because, I gotta tell you, I’ve seen taxidermy with more spark in its eyes.”

“Geez, thanks… Casey,” Chuck said, dragging his hand through his hair self-consciously. “I’m fine, really.” It was a lie. He felt like he had been run over by a semi, all eighteen wheels. But right now, he only wanted to feel Casey’s warmth next to him… and maybe fresh air against his face. “Can we get out of here now?”

“Chuck’s right.” Like a switch had been flipped, the blonde forgot about goading Casey, her demeanor all business. Ducking out the doorway, she glanced down the corridor in both directions. “We have to move.”

“Kid?” Casey glanced down to his waist, and he raised a brow at his boyfriend.

“Hmm?” Chuck followed his line of sight, and only then did he realize that he was fisting the fabric of Casey’s shirt with a death grip. 

“I like your enthusiasm, but you’ll have to loosen that a bit. We need to be able to walk, eh?” 

“Sorry… I was just uh…well – ow!”

Discreetly, Casey had helped himself to a handful of skinny ass. “Stay close enough though.”

“Stop it! She’s watching us,” Chuck hissed, batting at the roaming hand. 

Mumbling, Casey latched onto the flailing arm and hauled him out the door.

Smothered in the awkwardness of being dragged by his newish boyfriend while his old-fake-girlfriend tried not to smile, Chuck resorted to his go-to move in all spectacularly agonizing situations. Banal conversation. 

“Uh, soooo, Sarah.” To his horror, Chuck heard his voice crack. Wincing, he swallowed and tried again. “How… how have you been, anyway? I mean, when you left, I didn’t think you would ever… well, come back again. Oh, and not that you’ve come back, I guess, since coming back would mean Burbank, and as far as I know…?” The kid turned to Casey with a questioning frown. “Wait. Are we –?” 

“Not even close, kid.” He turned to give Chuck one of his looks. “And for the record, are you two going to have this conversation now? Because it damn well isn’t the time for us to get in touch with our girly-feelings.” 

“What? I just asked her how she is.” Peeved at being yanked around, the kid tried to wriggle his arm out of Casey’s grip, but the larger man would have none of that. So, Chuck did the next best thing, and glared at him instead. “That’s all, you know,” he muttered.

“Casey’s right this time, Chuck.” Oh no. That sly-knowing grin was back. “We’ll have plenty of time to get caught up with each other when we get out of here. Isn’t that right, major?”

Casey grunted – annoyance, weighted with impatience – and with his strong fingers encircling Chuck’s wrist like a vice, he pulled him along on his heels.

-x-

Jogging down a hallway, heading left, taking another right, all the while stumbling behind his boyfriend, had done nothing to ease the achy pain in the kid’s muscles, or the burn in his throat. 

“Wait… wait, guys.” Chuck drooped forward, putting his hands on his knees, and finally gave in to a wet coughing fit that had been backed up in his throat. It wracked his body, making him shudder… and fucking hell, they did this to him. 

Don’t think about it….

After half a minute, the kid slumped against the wall and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looked up, he was staring into his boyfriend’s unreadable expression. One thing was for certain. Casey’s wittiness from earlier had evaporated, replaced by something else.

“Sorry, Casey. Maybe I don’t feel so great after all.” 

“God dammit.” Casey’s eyes went to dangerous slits, all of the angles on his face hardened. Instantly, Chuck felt a warm hand slide across the back of his neck, fingers massaging above the collar. “Something’s wrong.” The larger man made a muffled, frustrated noise, while his fingers moved up gently to thread through Chuck’s locks. “Fuck. They did something to him.”

Chuck wasn’t aware that Sarah was standing so close, but the soft blur of her hair was suddenly right there too, next to Casey’s face. And, oh God, now she was concerned too, because Chuck noticed those thin worry lines she used to get when he did stupid things that would put him in danger. He had seen them a lot, so he averted his dark eyes away, and settled into the powerful curve of Casey’s chest.

“We have to get him out of here first, Casey. Then we can sort out the pieces.” She ruffled Chuck’s hair. “We’ll get him some help.”

“Guys, really, I’m okay –” 

“Beckman and her stooge,” Casey snarled between clenched teeth. “This never shoulda happened…”

“And beating yourself up right now is not going to get us anywhere,” Sarah cut in flatly. “There’s a stairwell, behind the bank of elevators. You two wait at the bottom of it, and I’ll signal you, Casey, when it’s clear.”

Meaning, she’ll do her scary ninja moves on any poor schlep who happens to be in the stairwell, Chuck thought, filling in the blanks.

“I’ll go.” Casey squared his shoulders and glanced up the stairs. “I can handle anyone who’s up there, Walker.”

“Casey?” Her tone, with just one simple word, told him that things were different this time. “I know you can, but you need to stay with Chuck.”

Chuck slowly turned his head to catch the rebuttal he was sure Casey would throw back at her, but instead, the agent eyed him, and took the spot next to the wall where the kid had propped himself.

“Then stop yapping and get moving, Walker.” 

A typical wise-ass reply, but nothing brought home the point more of how much their world had changed in the past few months. The Intersect’s primary handler was no longer a slim blonde toting a truck load of emotional baggage and an arsenal under her short skirt. His life, every puzzle piece of it, was in the hands of a man who for some crazy, inexplicable reason that Chuck would never understand in a million years, wanted him.

Well, that, and the kid figured he must look like utter crap for Casey to stay glued to his side and miss the opportunity to shoot someone. 

“Casey, you could’ve gone with her.” Chuck pushed his shoulders back against the cool brick wall, watching Sarah disappear as she rounded the landing one floor above them. “I’m going to be okay now.”

“Not leaving you like this.” Casey bent to the side and stroked him just behind the ear. “Jesus, you are a pain in the ass, ya’ know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah… I was worried about you too, big guy.” He mustered up a smile, let out a breath. Tipping his head, Chuck closed his eyes and swayed into the touch, letting Casey’s fingers work some magic on his aching head, his bare nape. The slow and steady strokes, the soothing cool wall behind him were helping to put out the flames that were a lapping at his forehead and cheeks…

– and just wait a goddamn minute. That bastard…what was it that Sarah said?

Chuck’s head sprung up and his eyes narrowed, wheels spinning. With a far different look for his boyfriend than he had a moment ago, Chuck shifted his stance so that he could scrutinize Casey’s face. 

“Huh. Well, isn’t that… odd.”

Casey’s fingers stilled. “What?” 

“You know, Sarah said something very interesting when we were back in my room,” Chuck said. “That you had contacted her –”

Casey shook his head, glancing up the staircase. “Yeah, I was waiting for this. Go ahead. Say it,” he said tersely, brushing the kid’s bare neck one more time before Chuck sidled out of his reach. “Get it the hell out of your system.”

“Okay, I will,” Chuck said, sniffing. “You told me… when Sarah left, that you had no way of getting in touch with her. That she was going deep undercover. With Bryce.” He pushed himself away from the wall, scrubbing his hand over his forehead. “But you lied to me. You could’ve contacted her. Why did you do that?”

Casey prowled in front of him, and folded his arms over his chest. “For your own good.”

“For my own – you know what? You can be a real arrogant ass sometimes. I mean how could you lie to me?” Chuck sputtered. “First Bryce betrays me, then –”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that little prick,” Casey managed to growl without moving his lips. 

Oh. Sensitive area, that. Eyeing his boyfriend, Chuck backpedaled towards the wall. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t –” 

Too late. Arms the size of tree trunks landed on either side of his body with a thump, boxing him in. Chuck had no choice but to look into those piercing blue eyes – though he was ticked off at himself for letting Casey intimidate him like this.

“I did not want to have this conversation right now, Bartowski, –”

“Or ever, I bet,” Chuck added petulantly.

“Or ever. Damn straight.” Casey stared at him without blinking. It took forever, but eventually the agent blew out a resigned breath, lifted a hand to rub Chuck’s cheek gently. “Listen to me. She wasn’t coming back no matter what. You saw the note she left. That was your closure, and the only one you were going to get. What good would it have done to tell you?” Casey traced his jaw with the pad of his thumb, pausing to let the kid think about it. “Would it have helped to drag it out? Was there anything you could’ve said that would’ve changed her decision?” 

Chuck’s eyes cut away from the ice blue gaze, landing on his stocking feet. He had no choice but to admit that bitter truth. “No.” He swallowed hard. “It wouldn’t have changed a damn thing with her.” 

“Heh. Woulda changed a lot of other things, though.”

“Okay, just say it. I’m an idiot.” Brushing his fingers against Casey’s arm, Chuck relaxed his body against the wall and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. God, especially now, Casey… How could I say that? I guess I just don’t feel so –” He trailed off, not wanting to go there. 

“One more thing, Bartowski.”

“Yeah?” he wondered, hesitantly. 

“Do you remember the most dangerous thing about Walker?”

“That she could kill me eighty-seven ways with just her pinky and a spork? Yeah, I got that.”

Casey snorted. “Yeah, she could. But, that’s not it,” he said. “She’s a woman, Chuck. You know what that means.”

The blank look on Chuck’s face said otherwise. He tilted his head at Casey, furrowing his brows. “Uh, seriously? Because, I gotta tell you, big guy, I’m totally lost here.”

Casey leaned in even closer, his warm lips a fraction away from Chuck’s ear, hot breath on his neck. 

“Are you listening?”

“Y-yes.” Chuck cleared his throat.

“She’s gonna want… details,” Casey said, his tone husky. “And she’ll stop at nothing to get them. She knows I won’t tell her a goddamn thing, so you’ll be her target. Got it, Bartowski?”

“Details? Details about what… now?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you can be so naïve. About us, kid. She’ll want to know the who, what, and when – though, hopefully she’ll have enough tact to avoid the how,” he added with a smirk. “You tell her nothing, Bartowski.”

“Sarah would never –”

Casey cut him off, shaking his head. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Tempering the gruffness, his hand made a slow glide down Chuck’s spine, a warm caress. “Just keep your trap closed on this one, eh?”

“Sheesh. Have some faith in me.” Peering up the stairwell, Chuck bit on his lips while he tumbled around with another thought. “There is one more thing that is bothering me though,” he said. “If Sarah is here, where is Bryce anyway?”

“The dickhead, you mean.” Casey shifted his grip, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb gingerly over the hollow of Chuck’s throat before pushing off from the wall. “Sleeping it off in another stairwell. He’s going to wake up with a mother fucker of a headache, too,” Casey chuckled.

“Uh, I don’t really want to know do I?”

“Let’s just say your fake girlfriend gave him the blow job he really deser –”

“Don’t move. You drop the kid or I’ll – I’ll shoot.”

Holy hell, no.

Something grabbed his arm, and pushed him back hard. The kid didn’t even register where the gun had come from – though, based upon the dozens of times he had watched Casey get dressed in the morning, he had a pretty good inkling. The real question was how it had sprouted in his hand so quickly, because before Chuck could take a sharp intake of breath, Casey had it leveled at the intruder. 

“Don’t move,” Casey sneered. The SIG’s laser sight was nearly drilling a hole through a man’s forehead – a very surprised man who was somehow holding it together, considering the intruder didn’t look at ease wielding a gun. Especially since it was now pointed at the imposing target of Major John Casey, America’s number one rogue spy. 

Chuck’s heart started hammering. “What the… Oh.” 

“You stay there, Bartowski.”

Gulping, the kid instinctively raised his hands in the air – and did exactly the opposite, taking a tentative step out of corner where Casey had so casually shoved him. Chuck kept his eyes locked on the man, not backing down. “David,” he said, swallowing to keep the panic out of his voice. “Don’t… please don’t shoot.”

Hunched in the darkened stairwell below them, the young doctor stood at the railing with his gun pointed somewhere in the vicinity of Casey’s chest. But Chuck could really only focus on a tiny red dot, dancing in a one inch circle on David’s forehead. 

“Chuck, get out of the way.” The silver plated pistol in David’s hand shook, but he filled his lungs with a deep breath, and took a deliberate step forward. “I’m going to take the shot.”

“The hell you are,” Casey growled. Like a two hundred and thirty pound lethal panther, the agent moved sideways, pushing Chuck against the wall with one hand, while the other held the aim on his target. Never wavering more than the size of quarter from the point between David’s eyes. “Wait a goddamn minute… did you call him David?” Casey slanted a look in Chuck’s direction. “Can I ask, who the fuck is –”

“– I should warn you,” David called up the stairwell, “I do know how to use this. I may not look like it, but I passed my firearms handling course with flying colors.” His voice was trembling as much as the gun by now, but the young doctor stood his ground. “Now step away from the kid, bozo.”

Casey inclined his chin while he studied the man with a curious squint. He lowered the SIG maybe an inch or two. “You serious, idiot?” 

“Casey, listen to me –”

The agent shrugged, ignoring him, and his chiseled jaw hardened. “Either way, say good-bye to the nice man, sport.” Casey bumped him in the chest with his elbow, nudging him backwards. “Believe me, kid. You may want to turn your head for his part.” 

Shit shit shit. Nothing about Casey was half-assed, especially when he was holding a gun, and the look told him David’s head would be splattered like a pumpkin in about one point five seconds –unless he did something. Oh, and right there, out of the corner of his eye, he could see his boyfriend slowly squeezing down on his trigger finger. Casey flashed a smirk, methodically lined up the shot –

And in a move that surprised Chuck more than anyone, the kid bolted around Casey and jumped between them, arms flailing wildly. 

“Stop! No shooting!” Putting up his palms defensively, he twisted around and gave Casey an accusatory look. “Or capping or plugging or anything else that involves gun shots and blood.”

“Are you nuts, Bartowski? Move your scrawny ass out of the way. Because, I can tell you, kid, there will be blood.” Not waiting, he made a lunge for Chuck, but the kid managed to squirm out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” Chuck said, cautiously shuffling a few steps further from Casey, just out of his reach but keeping his body in the line of fire. “David.” Chuck turned and forced a smile, waved a hand at him. “You may not realize this, –”

“Bartowski, you are dead meat for this little stunt –”

“– but, you’re pointing a gun at a man who finished at the top of his class in BUD/S sniper training and Scout Sniper School at Quantico.” Chuck slid a foot down one of the stairs, inching closer, arms still out to his side. “His longest kill shot is still a Special Ops record at eight hundred and forty-seven yards. Hit the man on the bridge of his nose–”

“– Wait a fucking minute.” Casey shifted his eyes away from David, momentarily distracted. “You flashed on my personnel file and never told me?” His voice dropped to a dangerous depth, and he took a step sideways to get David in his line of sight again, and then glanced back at Chuck. “Answer the damn question.”

“Uh, sorry, Casey. My bad, I know. But maybe we can talk about it, um, later? You know, sometime when there are less guns involved?”

“Heh.” The agent brought his gaze back to the doctor. “Besides, that shot wasn’t so great. I was aiming for his sternum.”

David stared. “Oh shit.” he finally whispered, and almost dropped the gun. “You’re not one of the orderlies. You’re John Casey.”

“Yeah, and you’re the little fucker who will let me test out my new laser finder.” He took a long stride towards the stairwell. “No more fun and games, kid. Get the hell out of the way.” 

“Casey, no –”

But when he dove for Chuck’s arm, he wasn’t about to miss a second time, and Casey grabbed hold and thrust him back to the wall. The NSA agent had a clear shot now. “I’ve been itching to kill somebody since I got here, and it looks like this guy drew the lucky number –”

“Casey.” Chuck lowered his voice, ignoring his writhing nerves in his gut. “He’s my friend.”

The SIG twitched almost imperceptibly. “…the hell, Bartowski. These people aren’t your friends. You should know that better than anyone.”

“But he helped me,” Chuck argued, putting a hand on the swell of Casey’s bicep, squeezing enough to get his attention. “He’s one of the good guys, Casey. Trust me on this. Please, just lower –”

“Uh, guys?” David cut in, wearing a terrified grin. “While you, um, hash this out among yourselves, I’m just gonna go over here and put the gun down.” David slowly sunk to his haunches and slid the pistol over the linoleum floor. When he rose, he spread his hands in the air and nodded at Casey, and then gave Chuck a puzzled look. “What did he mean by flash, anyway?”

Casey groaned. “Ah, hell. See? Now I gotta kill him.”

“But why?” Chuck blurted.

“Yeah, why?” David echoed, frantic. “I’m not going to try and stop you. Honest! I thought you were one of them.”

Casey snorted. “Is this guy serious?” He inspected the young doctor, and chuckled. “You think you’re gonna stop me?”

“Casey, he doesn’t know anything about the you-know-what.” Turning, Chuck drew his attention back to David, who had his eyes locked on the barrel of the SIG. “What did you mean, one of them?”

“Before I say anything, can you tell your friend with the gun pointed at me to drop it?” David’s face was pale, panic crawling through him. “It’s hard to think when you have one of those aimed at your head.”

“Not a chance,” Casey replied coolly, before Chuck could even open his mouth. “Answer the question.”

With an undeniably intimidating stare also pointed at him, David didn’t dare argue. “Something odd is going on. I don’t know what it is, but it involves you, Chuck. I don’t trust those men who wanted to test you.” 

“What men?” Casey broke in. “And, what tests?” Not convinced of David’s intentions yet, the agent kept the laser sight where it was. “Bartowski, what the hell is he talking about?”

Oh God. Now was not the time to bring up the tests; not while Casey still had a loaded weapon pointed at someone. “David? Who are they?”

The young doctor frowned a bit, his eyes avoiding the gun. “I don’t know… but they locked me out of the base – somehow got into the system to alter my security access. No one’s ever done that before.” He looked at Chuck sheepishly. “Well, I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I did some of my own research on the good doctor. He wasn’t even with the agency six months ago – nothing! There are no records; the guy is like a ghost. I wasn’t going to let him… do whatever he was doing, Chuck. So, when the security mess finally got solved this evening, I stopped to check on you.”

“I know. Sorry I was a little – well, I ignored you.”

“What the fuck are you two babbling about?” 

“Is he always like this?” David asked, tipping his head in Casey’s direction.

“Only when he’s awake.” Chuck gave Casey a warning look to the side. In reply, the agent folded his arms and glared back at him. “What else?

“Well, when I went back to my office, I just had that weird feeling … like something was shady. Off balance in a way. So, I stayed. I had some research to catch up on anyway, and then, I guess I fell asleep on the couch.” David started to lower his hands, but they shot back up when Casey shook his head just once at him. “Okay, okay,” he huffed. “Anyway, when I woke up, I thought I should check on you one more time before I –”

“Guys? Who… is this?” 

It was like a crazy slow motion film in his brain. From a dozen steps above them, Sarah raised her weapon, aiming at David’s chest – since the head shot was already called for by Casey, according to placement of the SIG’s laser’s sight. 

Chuck gaped at her, wondering for the thousandth time what that woman would look like with bells around her neck. Even Casey’s eyes widened at her before he put on the stink-eye again.

“Oh crap,” David moaned. “Another gun? Why do they have to be pointed at me?”

Chuck’s hands flew out protectively, slipping closer to David, and ignoring the big guy’s flash of irritation. “Sarah, you missed a lot while you were gone. We’ve already discussed the fact that we’re not going to shoot him.”

“Says who,” Casey grumbled, but the kid felt a surge of relief when his boyfriend finally lowered his gun. “Yeah, Walker, you missed it – apparently, this is Chuck’s… friend.” 

Oh. He sounded… pissed.

“Friend or not, our window of opportunity is closing,” she told them, holstering her weapon. “The staircase and hallway above are clear at the moment, but they’re not going to be blind up there for too much longer. Let’s move.”

“What about David?” Chuck nodded his head at him. The sandy haired doctor still had his hands in the air, so it was convenient for him to give Sarah a little wave. 

“Hi. Uh, that’s me.”

“David, meet Sarah. And, he won’t tell anyone what he saw, will you – stop!” 

The deliberate movement of Casey’s arm leveling again caught his eye, but the kid’s reaction wasn’t fast enough to stop him.

Phhhffttt Phhhffttt

“God, Casey! What did you do?”

He killed him. Chuck watched in horror as David’s chin fell to get a glimpse of his chest, blinking heavily, like a drunk on a three day bender. 

“Huh. That hurts waaaay more than Ithoughtitwould…” He started to turn away, fumbling for the stair rail, but his knees folded under him. It was probably pathetic, and Chuck would beat himself up for it later, but he wasn’t able to catch him before the doctor crumbled on the lower landing. 

“Why won’t you listen to me?!” Chuck’s eyes flared wide, an icy shiver rolled through him. “I told you – wait… is that a tranq gun?”

The NSA agent shrugged, giving the heap on the floor a courtesy look before shoving the tranq gun into his front pocket. “Saved him a lot of trouble,” Casey said matter-of-fact. “No one’s gonna question where he was or what he was doing while we were busy getting the hell out of here. It’s only a little stronger than twilight. He’ll be awake in less than half an hour.”

“Thank God,” Chuck whispered, sagging against the stairwell.

“Hey.” Casey was standing close all at once, brushed his lips over the edge of Chuck’s ear, but when he spoke, the kid felt a rough thread in his tone. “If you’re wrong about him… well, this better not come back and bite us.”

Chuck nodded slowly, the reassuring heat of Casey’s body making him take a hold on his waist, and letting his thumb trace a path up his boyfriend’s ribcage along the outside of his shirt.

“I’m not.” He swallowed, dark eyes silently telling Casey the same. “Not about this.”

-x-

“I thought you said it worked, Walker.”

“It did – five minutes ago.” Sarah blew a breath, tossing her hair to the side. “Maybe they’re locking it down. We’ll have to find another way.”

“Run it through again.” Casey stood next to the security door, ready to pull the handle, his SIG leveled in the other hand. A few feet away, Sarah ran the card through the reader, but the LED light remained red. 

“Shit,” he muttered, pounding on the door one time out of frustration. “According to your blueprints, Walker, the loading dock is on the other side of this doorway and down a hallway to the left. We’ll have to head back down to the second level, and find – Bartowski, look at me.”

During the climb up the four flights of stairs, Chuck told himself to just focus on counting the steps, but what he really wanted to do was curl up in a ball and crawl into bed. Every part of him ached. Hell, he knew he was out of shape – Casey was on his ass to turn off the Xbox and join him in Castle’s dojo from time to time – but this was freaking ridiculous. The kid hung onto the railing, his chest wheezing hard, but the blunt tone of Casey’s order made Chuck slant his head at him and meet his eyes.

“Fuck me running.” Casey exchanged a look with Sarah. “I’ve seen three day old road kill look better than that. Kid looks like hell. Skinnier and more pale than his usual look. We have got to get out of here.”

“Thanks, Casey,” Chuck groused, trying to even his breathing. “Not any way to talk to about your boyfriend when he’s in earshot. I’m right here, you know.” 

At the word boyfriend, Sarah almost dropped the badge, floundering to catch it before it bounced down the stairs. When her head popped up, her smirk directed straight at Chuck forced a heated flush from him, though he was pretty certain his head was already aflame before that. 

“Smooth, Walker. Think you can hang on to it?”

“Bite me, Casey.” 

When the clever retort didn’t come, Chuck’s gaze shifted, and he looked into blue eyes studying him with open intensity. A firm hand edged up over the hem of his t-shirt, rough knuckles on skin at his waist. The simple move to hook his thumb in the kid’s waistband explained everything to Chuck without a word: Casey thought he was going to fall flat on his face, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen.

Maybe Casey was right. His head was spinning, his world peppered in tiny white dots before his eyes. But he wasn’t going to let Casey go there right now. They had to get outside first. “You know, I may not be invincible like the present company, but I can handle –”

“Ah, shit. Back up, will ya’?” Obviously ill-at-ease with Sarah watching them share an intimate moment, the agent turned so that his back was to her, facing Chuck. “Are you okay?” and Casey cupped his jaw, sweeping a rough palm on the curve of his neck. “And don’t even think about lying to me.”

Chuck had to break his eye contact for a second or two, or he knew the other man would see through him easily. “Casey, you’re being a little – oh God, don’t look at me like that. I’m fiiiine. Can we just find a way to –”

The chirp of the burner phone in Casey’s pocket interrupted him, and the kid caught Casey rolling his eyes. “Ah, it just gets fucking better by the minute,” he muttered, rankled with whoever it was.

“Casey, answer it.” Sarah stepped up to Casey and straightened, nodding towards the phone. “He may have an alternative route. Don’t be an asshole.”

“What is it? Who?” Chuck leaned back on the railing with his elbows, and gave Casey a thoroughly confused look. “And why are you being so damn rude –”

“Cork it. Don’t wanna get into it now.” Lips pressed in a thin line told him not to push it. Biting his tongue, Chuck managed to peer over Casey’s shoulder and saw that it was a simple text message. 

Try the door again.

Casey rolled his eyes at the device and looked up. “Try it now, Walker.” The kid detected something different in his usually austere, never-flustered boyfriend. Exasperation?

Arching a brow at him, Sarah turned to the card reader and swiped the badge. The green LED flashed, and they heard a metallic click. “And you didn’t want him to help us?” She pulled the door open and held it there, glancing down the hallway. “God, Casey, you can be such a big prick sometimes.”

Chuck whirled on him, only to see Casey’s lip was curled in a sneer while his eyes were zinging darts at the blonde’s back. “What the hell is that all about?” the kid asked.

“Not now.” Running a hand down the kid’s back that landed in the small dip at his waist, Casey pushed Chuck gently but firmly through the doorway. “Go.” 

“It’s your dad.” Sarah looked past her shoulder and pointed an impish smile at Casey, before leading them down a narrow hallway. “He’s helping us, though your boyfriend – God, that’s hard to get used to – is having a hard time ponying up to that fact.”

“Walker.” A dire warning in one word.

“Wait a minute… you have been talking with …my dad?”

“And get that fucking grin off your face, or I swear to God and all that is holy, I will leave your ass here to rot underground.”

“You know what, Casey?” Chuck’s beaming crooked grin defied brilliance. “You’re jaw does that cute little twitchy thing when you lie to me like that.” 

Casey made a feral noise, disgusted, and turned away from the high beam. “Well, Walker. Did you lead us to a dead-end?”

“Nope,” she said. “According to the blueprint, this is it, boys. The loading dock. Let’s hope our friends up front are still watching video loops, thanks to your – whatever he is, right, Casey?” Sarah cautiously cracked the door open, her gun level in front of her. With a warm hand still in the small of Chuck’s back, Casey tugged out his SIG with his other hard and disengaged the safety. 

“Stay put,” Casey told him. If Chuck felt even a smidgen better, he would’ve rewarded Casey with an eye roll at least, but this time, he settled behind the door and waited. The ex-partners nodded at each other wordlessly, and pushed the door wide, weapons drawn. 

Less than half a minute later, two faces peered around the door at him. “You’re dad did it, Chuck,” Sarah said, grinning up at Casey. “The loading dock is empty. Let’s go.”

“Looks like you’re going to owe him a big thank you, Casey,” Chuck added with a cough.

Casey grumbled – it sounded like ‘horseshit’ – while shoving his gun behind his back. “You heard the blonde. Let’s move,” he said, and taking the kid’s arm, he led him out the doorway. 

And a second later, Chuck felt the ripple of it.

Air. A beautiful cool blast of night air, mingled with a light drizzle, hit Chuck in the face. He instinctively reached out and put his palm on Casey’s hip, curling his fingers over the familiar hard jut right there. Took a deep breath.

“No time, bunker boy,” Casey rumbled, his hair brushing Chuck’s temple. “We have to move. Bryce’s Audi is parked at a Burger King ‘bout a quarter of a mile from here. You gonna make it?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Okay, even with the breeze and night air and the light mist on his bare arms, Chuck had to admit to himself that he felt like warmed over shit on pavement. “Just stay close, okay?”

Casey grunted. “Not letting you out of my sight, kid,” he told him. Angling his head to see if Sarah had her eyes on them, he slipped his fingers into Chuck’s waistband and tugged him close enough for their thighs to touch. “Not again.”

-x-  
“I would’ve let you borrow my shoes. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

Chuck lifted up a foot and shimmied off one of the wet socks. “First, the walk wasn’t that far, second, I wasn’t going to make you be the one to go barefoot, and …well, just… no. I mean it’s not the same as sharing boxers or used socks, but still, right, Sarah?”

The blonde sat down in one the lumpy motel room chairs, and unloaded a clip from her gun. “Keep me out of your spats, boys,” she said.

“Traitor,” he teased, and pulling off the second sock, Chuck straightened and rubbed his eyes. “Need to lie down though.”

Chuck was too tired, too everything, and he headed to the bed and flopped down face first. Not a good idea. His body was reminding him very loudly that something was wrong. Burying his head in the pillow, he scratched his neck, which only made his head feel like it would split in two. It had to be the devil himself who had crawled into his throat, burning like a hot pick, and the kid turned his head to cough in his sleeve.

“God, you sound like shit.” The mattress dipped, and a large hand cupped Chuck’s nape, moved up to ruffle his hair, lightly knead the back of his head.

“Always know what to say to make it better,” Chuck grumbled. “Besides, I’m sure it’s just a nasty cold, courtesy of the fine accommodations, okay?” God, let that be it. Relishing the touch of Casey’s fingers for a minute, he shifted his arms under his head and sighed. “Feels good… thanks, Casey.”

It took a moment, but Sarah piped up from her perch in the corner. “Wow. You two… You are so…I don’t know…” 

“Get that damn smile off your face, Walker,” Casey growled, sounding more perturbed than normal.

“I told you, I just need to soak in the reality of this for a minute. I mean, to see it –”

“See it? Jesus H. Christ. See what?”

“– first hand like this is well… something else entirely different. Besides...,” and the kid heard something playful creep into her voice. “I think you two are… well, this thing between you is… kinda cute actually.”

“… sonovabitch. Don’t you have a boyfriend of your own to get back to? Maybe slug him again?” 

“Uh, guys?” Chuck croaked, half-turning his head. “Though I’m flattered to be referred to in a manner generally reserved for Cabbage Patch dolls –”

“Cute my aching ass –”

“– or striped kittens, I was hoping you could wrap up witty banter so I can just …well, you know, lay here and die?” One eye opening to a slit, he saw Casey’s leg next to him on the bed, and he reached up and lazily traced the seam of his jeans. “Truthfully? Not feeling so great. Can you kids take your arguing outside?”

“You’re not lying in this bed,” he heard Casey reply.

“Hmm?” The kid cocked his head around on the pillow to look up at Casey. Oh, not good. His face was just a soft smudge above him. Chuck closed his eyes again to stop the room from careening side to side. “I’m staying. Let me get some sleep.”

“I’m taking you to the shower first. Get up.”

It was at that moment the kid realized Sarah had been caught mid-gulp with a pop or coffee in her hand. Because, by the time Casey uttered ‘shower’, something went down the wrong pipe, and it made a heck of a racket coming back up. Chuck twisted around in time to see her put her hand on her chest. And, strangely, a puckish smile on her face. 

Casey groaned. “What? Jesus, get your mind out of the gutter, Walker. I said he looks like shit, but guess what he smells like? Stale socks and sweat. Disgusting. Sit up, Bartowski.” Glancing down, his voice got throatier, and he grazed his arm with a touch. “You’ll feel better.”

“Nuh-uh. And in my defense, there was no privacy in the shower there, so I – hey! That’s my pillow!”

“Grab an arm, Walker.”

One strong grip on the shoulder became two, and Chuck felt himself pulled to his feet. “Wait… not that I’m not flattered by the offer – oh, because really I am.” They’re spies; they know sarcasm when they hear it, right? “But, I can get out bed and take a shower on my own, thank you very much.”

Well, spies may know sarcasm, but apparently, they don’t listen worth a darn. Instead, Casey’s arm snaked around his waist, stiffened, and Chuck had no choice but to let himself be pushed into the dingy motel bathroom. When his boyfriend finally released him to fetch a towel from the rack, the kid glared at Casey, and folded his arms over his chest. “I can handle it from here, big guy.”

“Strip,” Casey replied succinctly, grabbing the sample size shampoo from the counter. “God, I wish I could throw those things into the dumpster out back. Or burn them. Too risky though. They’ll crawl through every trash bin within a hundred mile radius to find you.”

“Strip? Oh, no, no, no…” Chuck said, flicking a look towards the door. “Not with Sarah here.”

“Christ, you can be a dumb moron if you think I’d try to bend you over the sink here and fu –”

“Shhh! She can hear you!”

Casey shook his head, chuckled humorlessly. “Hit the shower.” Turning to pull the door shut behind him, he rolled up to a stop – and winked. “But maybe we can send Walker for some take-out after you get some rest, eh?”

“Go.” Chuck was still blushing furiously when the door closed.

Stripping out of the t-shirt and cotton pants – oh, Casey was right, they did stink to high heaven – he adjusted the spigot and climbed into the shower. The hot spray drenching his skin was mingled with a new layer of sweat, sprouting up on his neck and forehead. Not good. Those sparks in front of his eyes from earlier were back, and they brought fireworks with them this time. 

Shaking his head, the kid splayed a hand against the white tile to steady himself, and slowly turned the water temperature down. What was wrong with him? The pulsating spray and heat on his back released the ache in his bones, but it was making him lightheaded, too. Quickly washing his hair and soaping up, getting the smell off his skin and letting the ugly images of that place swirl down the drain, the kid rinsed and shut off the water. 

“You okay?” Casey’s low voice was muffled from the other side of the door. “Walker said there’s orange juice in the vending machine. She’s getting you some.” 

His stomach turned at the thought of drinking it, but he couldn’t let Casey know that; his boyfriend had been through hell and back this week, and Chuck wasn’t going to let him get worried because of a little head cold.

“Fine. I’m fine, really.” He would be, at least, if he could just get under the blankets, because now he was freezing. A shiver rattled his spine, seemed to work a soggy cough from his lungs.

“That so? Because you sound like hell. Pass me the clothes.” 

“Is… Sarah there?”

“Fuck, Bartowski. Stop being so damn modest, will ya’? Like there’s something in there we haven’t seen before. Just hand me the clothes.”

“We? You mean Sarah has seen me too? God, Casey!”

“Twenty-four hour surveillance ring any bells, Intersect?” 

“Okay, okay. I don’t even want to know.” Drying off his legs and slinging a towel low on his hips, the kid opened the door just wide enough for the fistful of dirty laundry to be handed off. Casey snagged it from him and closed the door.

Then, Chuck turned to the mirror and froze.

Holy shit, no. For the first time since it happened, he caught a look of something he didn’t want to see. The red marks on his ribcage and pecs, left over souvenirs from the Intersect testing that hadn’t washed away with the rest of the grime and shit that took place down there. Instead, the hot water had made them crimson, standing out like a beacon against pale skin. 

Can’t let Casey see that. He’s been through enough to get here. He’d ask questions, ones that Chuck didn’t want to answer right now, or even think about….Not now…not now…

And only because he had the worst luck going, that was the moment the bathroom door blew open. Casey wedged past him holding something. “Here’s a clean t-shirt, and the sweat pants might be a little big, but –” 

“Gah! A little privacy here?!” Lunging for another towel on the rack, Chuck clutched it over his chest. “I’ll be out in –”

“What the fuck… was that?”

“Um, what?” Chuck gave him a bolstering, fake smile. “Can you leave the clothes right there, and –”

“Don’t give me that look.” Casey’s eyes swept over him, scanning his legs, bare arms. “Jesus Christ. Give me the towel, Chuck.”

“Look, Casey, it’s nothing really.” Reflexively, the kid’s fingers tightened on the towel. But Casey’s look told him he wasn’t about to back down, and the agent hemmed him in next to the sink. Fiery blue eyes churned, and the larger man held out a hand, waiting for him to drop the towel in it. 

“Let’s go,” he rumbled. It was obvious to Chuck that he was trying to quell a surge of hot anger, though the kid knew it wasn’t meant for him. “Hand it over. I want to see what they did to you.”

“Casey, what’s going on?” Sarah’s blonde head popped in from the doorway. “I heard – is everything okay, Chuck?”

“Oh no.” Chuck shifted his eyes to the floor, hoping the pit of hell would swallow him rather than having to deal with the newest intrusion. “Guys, guys, please just –”

“They did something. I saw it.” Casey stuck his hand out again and waited for Chuck to drop the towel in it, the gesture brooking no room for argument. “Don’t make me take it, kid.” he said, lowly.

“Damn you for being a stubborn ass.” 

Casey stared. After a heavy silence, he moved in close, not stopping until their noses almost touched. He gazed into dark wide eyes. “If I wasn’t a stubborn ass, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Point taken,” Chuck said, hoping to steer away from the topic… but he was playing against the master, and the no bullshit look from his boyfriend told him not to bother, because Casey wasn’t buying it. This was the Casey that still had the ability to daunt him when he wanted to – the one that could move with dangerous grace, unrestrained power. 

“He’s right, Chuck.” Sarah folded her arms over her chest and gave him a wan smile, one that attempted to scatter the tension in the tiny bathroom. “And I wouldn’t argue with him when he looks like that.”

The toe-to-toe silent pissing match went on for ten ticks, but finally Casey shook his head with a curse and reached out to clench the towel in his fist. The kid was surprised when he left his hand there, instead of giving it a good yank that he expected. “What is wrong with you, Bartowski? What are you hiding?”

“When you see…this…well, you’re going to be pissed.” 

“Let me clue you in to a little secret, Chuck. I’m already pissed. So drop… the… fucking… towel.”

Chuck went taut, nodding towards Sarah awkwardly with a look that asked her to please please leave the room.

“I agree with Casey on this. To hell with your modesty.” When he returned with his most stubborn look, she rolled her eyes at him. “And he was telling the truth – I have seen all you’re state secrets already.” 

“All?” He gulped. “That’s a lie, right? You’re just saying that to make me –”

“How about that cute little freckle shaped like a pear on your –”

“Stop!” Chuck covered his eyes, but she was still smiling at him when he peeked through his fingers. “Oh my God, oh my God…” 

“She’s right, ya’ know,” Casey offered up. “You do have that –”

“Did you hear me say stop?”

Sarah stood back, leaned against the door. “Something’s wrong here. Casey’s on to something. I want to see it, too,” she said, sizing him up. “Drop the towel, Chuck.”

Chuck tightened his fists around the towel. “Sometimes, I hate both of you. Just sayin’.” 

As an answer, Casey pressed his lips together, and the pair of spies stared at him, implacable.

Chuck stared back at them in absolute horror. Dammit, he was only kidding himself if he thought he could get around Casey, but now? With two spies hovering over him? Chuck knew he was toast. And, with his head was sloshing around like a jellyfish on the tide, he just wanted to get this part over so he could collapse in the bed again. 

Chuck closed his eyes, groaning to himself. With no fanfare or expression, he begrudgingly handed over the towel covering his chest to the very obstinate man in front of him, and waited for the –

“… sonovabitch. Those mother fuckers.” A huge fist came down hard on the countertop, rattling the cheap cabinet. “The general and her cock suckers…”

Abundance of cursing. Yep, and there it was. 

Chuck blinked at the outburst, hoping he could diffuse it with an uncomfortable smile. “Oh. That … was colorful, even for you, Casey.” 

But his deadly look told him the agent wasn’t in the mood for humor, apparently. 

“Who did this?” With narrowed eyes, he skimmed over the kid’s stomach and chest before zeroing in on the marks. A warm thumb and finger touched lightly, sweeping over the patches like a flutter that Chuck almost couldn’t feel. 

How could a man so large and terrifying and freaking intimidating to the world own such a touch as that?

“You’re not going to let this go right now, are you?” 

Casey settled against the sink and crossed his arms. Still staring.

“Wow. Okay, then.” Chuck avoided his eyes by glancing down at the chipped tiles, dragging a hand through his dark waves. “There was a doctor in the bunker who –”

“Einstein. I shoulda killed that little bastard when I had –”

“No! God, no, Casey.” The kid scrambled backwards. “Not him. Another one. He wanted to… test me, test the Intersect I guess. Beckman approved it. The second time he tested me –”

“Beckman.” Casey snatched the t-shirt he had brought in, and handed it to him. “There was more than one time then.”

“Yeah. The second time, he attached… I don’t know maybe, electrodes? Really, I have no idea what they were, because the sedatives –”

“Sedatives?”

Chuck blew out a sigh, resigned that he was in all the way now. “Yes, sedatives – needles and the whole bit, okay? The guy was … he said he was the lead on the Intersect Project, but I don’t know, something was off. David sensed it, too. That’s who he was talking about tonight.”

“Name.” One word; hoarse, savage. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave the kid a dark look – again meant for someone else. His eyes were startling, even to Chuck. Burning with hellfire.

Chuck blamed the god-awful contents of that last needle for being slow on the uptake. Synapses were firing like flies in molasses. “Wh-what?” 

“I’m asking you for the name of the doctor, Chuck.” This was the all-business Casey fixing him with a look. No mercy. No giving back. Eyes flared, quick and hot. “I need… a name.”

Chuck looked from one spy to the other, bringing up a hand over his heart, suddenly self conscious of his nakedness again. “Reynolds,” he said quietly. “He said his name was Doctor Reynolds.” 

It was unreal. Like the Twilight Zone, to think that he had just given a man a Death Sentence. Because, there was no doubt; Casey was going to kill him. 

And, the kid couldn’t say with certainty if it was the harsh sound of that bastard’s name, leaving a hollow ringing off the tile wall, or the room tilting like a hay-wire carnival ride, but it seemed his knees picked this moment to give out. 

“Uh-oh.” Fisting his hand in Casey’s skin-warmed shirt lapel to steady the swaying, he turned his head just enough to see Sarah’s hazy face. Oh, this is bad… even his ex-fake-sometimes girlfriend had a look of worry. Blinking away the glare, he pressed his fevered forehead to Casey’s nubby cotton polo at the curve of his shoulder. “Casey, I lied.”

The NSA agent’s grip tightened around Chuck’s wrist, and his eyes widened. “What did you lie about Chuck?”

“I don’t feel so good.” His lashes fluttered and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I mean, really really not… good.”

“Easy. Don’t you pass out on me, Bartowski.” Casey wedged a thick thigh between his legs… which would’ve been hot, Chuck noted in the far recesses of his mind, if it weren’t for the whole pesky passing out thing. “You keep it together.” 

And, oh hell, he wanted to die and laugh at the same time. Only his tough-as-tree-bark boyfriend would think he could damn well threaten someone not to black out, and that they would of course have to obey.

Well, his boyfriend was going to be mad about this. 

“ ‘m sorry, Casey,” Chuck managed before the world tumbled over sideways and spilled like a wheelbarrow of bricks.

And then it was black. 

-x-End Chapter Four Part One-x-

-x-

“… hey, kid… you hear me…?”

Casey brushed the back of his hand over the stubble on Chuck’s cheek, feeling the rough tickle along his fingers… but the kid was still. Wait, something fluttered. It took Casey a half minute to realize it was his stomach. 

“Dammit,” he murmured uselessly, since the only person who would’ve been able to hear his voice was out cold. 

His eyes skimmed over the kid’s bare chest, and on impulse, he leaned over his shoulder, at the curve of his neck, and inhaled deeply – filling his senses with Chuck’s scent. That familiar and clean stupidly sexy way he had about him without even trying to smell good. The potent whiff of innocence made Casey flush.

“…gonna wake up?” Running his knuckles lightly down his forearm, the kid didn’t even move or flinch. Casey frowned at his slack face, and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Shit.”

“Stop beating yourself up.” 

John Casey almost started at the sound of Sarah’s voice. Though he would never show it outwardly, his gut twisted with embarrassment that he didn’t realize Walker, seated at the small round table, had been studying him from across the room. More embarrassed that she nailed his thoughts with deadly accuracy.

The kid had blacked out ten minutes ago – why the hell didn’t he see that coming? – and after fumbling with the towel and the dead weight in his arms, the blonde had helped him carry Chuck to the bed. Considering he was still very much naked under there, she even had the decency to turn her head when Casey pulled the towel away and tucked Chuck’s long limbs under the blanket. God, the kid would’ve been mortified by the awkward exposure if he was awake for that little show. 

“Casey, you didn’t do this to him.” Her legs were curled under her in the chair, looking at him like a sleek know-it-all house cat. The gaze was half-empathy, and half – well, telling him he was being a complete jackass. “It’s not your fault.”

“Walker.” His voice was hoarse even to his ears. Nice one, ace. Rubbing the back of his neck, Casey took a drink from the bottled water Sarah had foisted on him – like he was some kinda pussy after all – and he fought down a scowl not meant for her anyway. “I’m gonna fix it,” he finally said.

“Well, yes, you will.” At that point, she gave him a wan smile. “Do you remember when we met? You told me you don’t fix things, you break them. I like how you … changed.” 

Casey grunted derisively. A nice way to put how Chuck has changed him. 

“And I’m sure you will fix it,” she told him, pulling up her pant leg and tightening the Velcro strap that held a handy set of knives. “But not right now. Right now, you’re going to hand me that pillowcase from the extra pillow.”

Casey’s brows furrowed at her, but when Sarah held out her hand and waggled her fingers, he bent over the kid and grabbed the spare pillow. Stripping it, he tossed her the pillowcase. 

“What are you doing?” Casey asked, glancing at her ankle as she adjusted her cuff over the blades. “I know you. The knives? You’re not exactly the dicing veggies type, Walker.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Are you okay… staying here?” Uncurling her legs from under her, she stood up and slid her handgun in the holster. “Because, I need to go out for awhile.” 

“You think I’m going to leave him?” He guessed she heard his annoyance. 

“Sorry… I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” Walker snatched her car keys off the tabletop and glanced over at him. Casey wasn’t sure what she saw, but she breathed out a laugh. “To answer your question, no, I don’t think you will.” Christ, it was said in that way girls have of giving everything a double meaning.

Casey brushed it off by shrugging a shoulder at her. “Where the hell are you going?”

Sarah tucked the pillowcase under her arm, and stood at the foot of the bed. Her eyes traveled over the blankets, the body tucked safely under them. “He needs a doctor, Casey. Neither of us can fix this right now,” she said quietly. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

He, Major John Fucking Casey, can’t fix it, she’s telling him. Casey wanted to snap at her, but he bit down on his tongue and fiddled with the washcloth he was holding to Chuck’s brow instead. Wasn’t her fault either. He hated this, whatever it was that was slicing through him. Couldn’t even think of the word to describe the feeling. Not in his vocabulary… or any part of his human fiber.

“Casey?”

Slowly, the cold-school killer shifted his eyes to her. He had been staring at his hands; rough, calloused, perfectly formed for brutality. Not for this.

“You’re thinking you’re helpless right now, and it’s got you rattled.”

Abruptly, he was reminded of something. Sarah Walker could be a shrewish bitch when she set her mind to it.

Well, Fuck Off. Rattled, my ass. He snorted sardonically at the C-cups she had for even suggesting it. With one black look in her direction, the agent strolled into the bathroom and ran the cold water over the cloth. The kid’s skin temperature had warmed it like bath water, and it gave him an excuse to get out from under her prying eyes.

“Casey, you’re still the agency’s top trigger man, and as a side note, the biggest prick I’ve ever met,” she called from the motel room’s doorway. “You’re still you.”

“Yeah, well compliments will get you nowhere,” he said to the man in the mirror. Carefully, he wrung out the cold washcloth and stepped out of the bathroom, only to see her still standing there, watching him. He ignored it. Taking a seat on the bed, Casey folded the cloth neatly over Chuck’s forehead so that it wouldn’t drip down his bare neck. After a minute, he shook his head. Just fucking perfect. “I know there’s a ‘but’ in there,” he grumbled, tugging the blanket over the kid’s shoulders. “Just say it, Walker.”

“But… Chuck doesn’t need a cold-blooded killer right now, so you can’t be that guy,” she said. “He needs his boyfriend.”

-x-

The thick blinds had been drawn over the window, enveloping the motel room in black. So, an hour later, when Walker made her appearance by cracking open the door and flicking on the light, it revealed Casey in combat stance – feet shoulder width apart, both hands on his SIG, pointed directly at her. Or, them, if he were to include the quivering schlep under the pillowcase. 

“I missed you too,” Sarah deadpanned, looking at him from head to toe. Unceremoniously, she shoved the man through the door and pulled it closed. 

“Jesus, Walker. I coulda plugged you,” Casey growled, jamming the SIG behind his back. “Did you think of calling or signaling before you waltzed in here like a two bit thief?”

“I thought you might be trying to get some rest for a few minutes. You need it.”

“Please don’t kill me,” the man broke in with a desperate chant, waving his hands out in front of him blindly. “Whoever you are, please please, don’t kill me.” 

“You thought I would sleep through that?” Casey rolled his eyes at her, and drew his attention to the terrified babbler with the cloth over his head. “Is that the doc –”

“Where are we? Please – I know I’ve made this point before – but whoever you are, I’m not your guy! Unless… unless this is just a random kidnapping for cash? You can take my car, my wallet. Really, anything! I think I have some money left on the Blockbuster card if you like movies, but I’d… well, stay away from the Visa, I might’ve gone over the limit last month, and –”

“Fuck me – he’s the doctor?” Casey put his hands on hips, eyes blazing a trail from the lumpy pillow case, to his wrinkled Dockers, down to his sensible brown loafers. “Where you’d find this guy?”

“She kidnapped me!” the prisoner burst before Sarah could answer. “Right out of the parking lot of my condo. At freaking gunpoint. She’s a maniac… you gotta help me!”

“You still got your balls?”

The man started moving to check, but stopped himself when he remembered the pillowcase. And, maybe that he would’ve known if he didn’t. “Uh, yeah?”

“Then consider yourself lucky,” Casey smirked. Turning, he raised a brow at Walker, a look that said ‘are you kidding?’

Sarah shrugged. “He was the closest one I could fine in the CIA database.” When she glanced at Casey, something told him he should be worried about that slight smile on her lips.

“Did I miss the punch line, Walker?”

As his answer, she snatched the loose fabric and yanked the pillowcase off the doctor’s ahead. Taking a step back, she folded her arms over her chest and surveyed both of them. 

“You.” Casey’s voice was road-gravel deep, and on reflex, he reached behind his back for his gun again. 

“Oh, God. You,” the man replied, eyes flared wide. 

“Chrissakes, Walker.” Rubbing his temple in exasperation, Casey wheeled around on Sarah with a scowl. “This is the only goddamn doctor in this town you could find? Einstein?”

“Oh… well, actually…” The man blinked several times against the light, and crooked his head to look at one captor, then the other. “It’s Eisenstein, if you wanted to be precise. There’s an ‘en’ in there that people have a tendency to forget about, but –”

“Jesus.” Reluctantly – and thinking damn hard about it – Casey lifted the hem of his polo and put his gun away. “Walker, tell the good doctor that I will strangle him with my bare hands if he even thinks about finishing that sentence.” But before she could say anything, Casey grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and propelled the terrified doctor towards the edge of the bed. 

“Easy, Casey,” Sarah said. “He’s going to help us. Aren’t you, David?” 

“Ow! Cripe, have you ever considered actually speaking instead of just pushing?” David asked, pointing a frown at the NSA agent while he massaged his neck. “What is this all about, anyway?”

To answer, Casey made a guttural noise that made David jump. “C’mere, numb-nuts.” He helped himself to a handful of hair, using it to point the doctor’s face towards the crumpled blankets – and the lean, lanky form sprawled out under them. “You’re a doctor, aren’t ya? Well, fix him. Now.”

“Chuck?” David tried to squirm away to get a closer look. 

“No, the fucking Easter Bunny.” With one last death-glare, Casey acquiesced by loosening the grip on his neck. “Who’d you think it was?” he mumbled, and reluctantly stepped to the side, letting David scoot in close. 

“Chuck…” Holding a handful of the covers, David pulled the blanket down, exposing without thought a runway of pale sinewy torso, smooth flesh. “Hey, kid, can you hear me?” he asked, brushing a hand over his forehead. “Chuck, you’re out of the bunker… let’s see those eyes, hmm?” 

Figures. Even out cold, Chuck wouldn’t do a damn thing he was told to do. 

“So?” the agent asked, with a look that told him he needed to watch those fucking hands. 

Well, hell, Casey did not expect that reaction – the first thing out of the doctor was a swear. A second later, something stirred across David’s face, and he whirled around on Casey, nostrils flared.

“What did you do to him?” 

Mystery solved. The little shit does have his balls intact after all, because it was accusatory coming from his mouth. 

“You little son of a bitch…” Muscles tensed, ready to spring.

“Casey.” In a heartbeat, Sarah was in front of him, an unexpectedly strong hand curled over his shoulder. “He doesn’t know. It was just a question.” She rounded on David, keeping her hand where it was. “Believe me; Casey had nothing to do with this. We could tell he was sick when we… extracted him from the bunker.” Sarah’s eyes skimmed over Chuck. “He passed out in the bathroom about thirty minutes later.”

“Reynolds,” David hissed to himself. “If it wasn’t you – it had to be him.”

“That’s the name.” Casey pointed a knowing look at Sarah, and felt a band of heat slither across his shoulders. “The same doctor Chuck mentioned. The bastard who tested him.”

The same bastard who won’t see the sun set tonight.

“I tried … to stop him.”

“Hell of a lot of good that did.” The agent grabbed his arm and yanked him next the bed again. “You’re the doctor we’re stuck with now,” he said, a steady challenge in his eyes. “Get doctoring, and move your ass.”

“That was the plan,” David replied stubbornly. “But, I… I don’t have my bag with me. My medical supplies or –”

“Walker, tell me you didn’t forget…?” Casey turned to gripe at Sarah for the rookie oversight, only to see her with a smug look, holding up a worn black leather bag. 

“I grabbed it out of your trunk after I convinced you to join me in my car.”

“Extract… convince. You two have quite an interesting way of twisting the language to suit your purpose, don’t you? I suppose next you’re going to tell me that Major Casey is just a big, misunderstood teddy-bear, and not the agency’s most wanted, hmm? And she’s going to tell me to look on the bright side, because my mother, sitting in her duplex in Miami, is going to be thrilled that I finally got hit on by a woman in a parking lot that looks like a blonde Wonder Woman. Uh, the classic version, not the new franchise, of course.”

Oh, hell. Chuck’s doppelganger had a PhD in babbling. And, conversely, Casey was quite proud of the toolbox of methods he had amassed to divert his boyfriend of that habit – making out on the couch, pressing him down on the blankets for a quickie blow job – but considering this wasn’t his nerd, he employed an old stand-by. 

Fisting the doctor’s shirt, Casey shook the little Einstein. “No matter what the blonde says, shooting you is still on the table if you don’t close your cake eater and make him better. Got it?”

David blinked up at him, waiting to see if he would look away or let him know it was just a bad joke. 

In response, Casey gave him another shake for good measure. “And before you get started, don’t even think about touching that blanket again,” he said, his voice hitting the dangerous register. “He’s … naked under there.”

“Oh. Well, then.” 

Is that dill weed blushing? Casey looked again. Oh… Fuck, you have got to be kidding me.

David took the bag off of Sarah, unzipped it, and pulled out a stethoscope. “I’m going to need to know everything Chuck told you.” Stuffing the rubber eartips in each ear, he straightened the tubing and placed the small cupped disk on his chest. “All of his symptoms.”

“He said he felt like shit, okay? Now do something.” 

“Um, alrighty…” David actually rolled his eyes at his very large pissed off captor. “Maybe I should clarify. I need to know everything that could be remotely helpful in the diagnosis.” He glimpsed down at the disk and shifted it slightly under Chuck’s ribcage. “I need specifics, major.” 

Casey eyed him, ready to bite back, but instead counted to five…slowly. “Okay… He was coughing. A lot,” he growled. “And even you can tell his fever is off the charts. Kid said his muscles ached, and he had a hell of a time with the stairs. Wheezing like a three pack-a-day smoker.”

David moved the silver disk to the other side of Chuck’s chest and glimpsed up. “What else do you remember?”

At his sides, Casey felt his fists clench into tight balls just thinking about it. “That mother fucker Reynolds injected him with something.”

“What?” David’s head whirled up again. “Injected?”

“He told us right before he passed out.” It was the first time Casey knew his ex-partner was more upset than she was letting on, because he heard her swear softly after she joined the conversation. “A sedative. There was something else too. And you can see –”

“Yes, I see it.” Even the mild mannered little squirt was trying to hold back his anger by now. It wasn’t working so great for him, either. Because up until this moment, they had all been quietly ignoring – or in Chuck’s boyfriend’s case, seething over – the red chafed patches on the kid’s chest. One an inch or so over his heart, two on the ribcage, one on his pec. “Did he tell you…?” David asked coolly, nodding at the red marks before shifting his eyes to Casey.

“Electrodes.” Casey’s voice was hoarse again. He cleared his throat. Shit, just say it. “He wasn’t sure of that, either… how they hurt him. Like we said, he was sedated.”

Light fingers smoothed over the areas, leaving tiny prods here and there with his thumb and finger. “Well, they’re not bad, actually. Just a little surface abrasion. First-degree. Only an epidermal injury.”

Casey snorted and grabbed his bottle of water from the night table. “Not bad, he says.” He choked it off bitterly by taking a deep swallow.

“From a purely medical viewpoint, of course. We don’t condone… this at the facility, Major Casey.” David began fishing through his bag, then a side pocket. “I have lidocaine and an antibiotic. Where did I put it? Oh, here we go.” Gathering up the plastic tubes, he set them on the night table. “But, before we do that… ” He stopped and made a low humming noise, and Casey could see the geek was deep in thought. 

“What is it?” Casey asked, folding his arms over his chest. 

“I’m looking for… something.” 

Yeah, I bet you are.

David folded up the stethoscope and set it next to medications, so maybe he didn’t see the pissed off boyfriend over his shoulder. Instead, the agent watched as the doctor turned his focus to one of Chuck’s arms, carefully lifting it from his side, and dragging his fingers up from his wrist, over his forearm, grazing his thumb lightly over the crook of the kid’s elbow. “Well, there’s one of them.”

“One what?” Casey was getting perturbed with the vague responses. “What are you looking for?” He slanted his eyes at Walker to see if he had kept the sarcasm in check. She was shaking her head at him.

“Injection point. Right there… see it? You can learn a lot from one little prick.”

“Heh.”

“Casey.” Sarah moved next to the bed, her blonde hair falling on her shoulder as she shook her head at him again. Oh hell. There was that ‘be nice’ look.

If David knew he was supposed to be insulted by that little remark, he didn’t show it. He was in his element, working with an unconscious grace. “Raised, just there, no redness…” he murmured, and lifting up the other arm, he repeated the slow drag of fingers, stopping at the bend in Chuck’s elbow. “…and nothing on this one…”

Talking to himself. God, this is taking too long. Look at him.

Oh, but right there…

Just as Casey wanted to kick the doctor into next Sunday, the kid pulled his arm back, tried to say something. Muffled. Running his hand through his hair, that nervous gesture Casey found so damn endearing… long lashes fluttered for a beat… his palm curled open on the pillow…

Casey waited, chest frozen, watching for the focus of dark eyes, a quick smile, or an expressive brow… a piercing look of vulnerability.

Nothing. Eyes remained shuttered to the world.

The geek saw it differently. Naturally. “Responsive. Good… that’s an excellent sign.” The doctor touched the kid’s cheek – and smiled. (At the same time, Casey felt his fingernails leaving rounded half moon indents in his palm.) “Can you help me? We need to roll him on his side.”

“Told you already,” Casey said, silently enjoying the way David’s eyes landed on a bulge of twisted muscle when he peered up at the agent. “He’s naked under there.”

“Which so happens to work in his particular situation, since I need to check for injection points on his … well, his backside.”

So, let me get this straight … His lover is out cold, and now the little ass-wipe wants to –

“Casey.” Oh, Christ, Sarah again, looking up at him with her arms folded. “He’s trying to help…”

His lips twitched. Breathe.

“Let’s roll him on his side, then,” Casey finally growled, careful to keep the bunched up sheet draped over the kid’s hips. “Glad he’s out for this part,” he muttered. “Kid would be dead of embarrassment.”

“Yeah, well, I like to tell my patients that they all begin to look the same after a while.” David glanced at Chuck’s backside, and added under his breath, nonchalant, “Besides, I’ve already seen his.” 

What … did he just say? Casey’s head sprung up, and he almost dropped the sheet and Chuck in one smooth move. As he straightened to his full height, a pair of blue eyes slid up David’s arms to his face, burning a path like hot oil on skin. “Oh?” Casey gave him a look of daggers. “I can’t wait …to hear how.”

Shit, he had to give the blonde credit – she was quick. Recognizing that unless she intervened, the doctor would be coming home in the trunk of a car, wrapped in a bed sheet, Walker quickly slinked into the tight space between them, and held Casey at bay.

“What the major means,” Sarah said hastily, “is that the initial dossier the agency provided to you with data on your new inmate, might have failed to mention that Casey isn’t just Chuck’s handler. He’s Chuck’s boyfriend.”

“Oh..?” David blinked, deer in the headlights. “Oh! Not like that!” Bounding back, the doctor almost tipped over the black bag perched on the edge of the bed. “It was just… well he was in the bathroom when I went into his room and wow that sounds really bad to hear me say it like that, but trust me really it was nothing like you’re picturing in your head right now because I-thought-he-might-be-sick-again-and – please don’t kill me!” 

Casey was still, eyeing his prey. After ten long seconds, his jaw unclenched enough to speak. “New plan, Einstein. Why don’t you stay over there and tell me what I’m looking for, eh?”

Fuck. Walker was grinning at him over the doctor’s shoulder. Again.

“Um…okay, then… you’re looking for any sign of needle tracks, redness… or swelling?”

Drawing up the corner of the sheet, Casey let his eyes drift over the milky-white round of the kid’s ass cheeks, roving up his backside to his hips. Knowing he was being watched, he drew his head back. They wouldn’t see the breath he let out. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I would know … if there was something out of place down here.” Casey took his time to adjust the sheet, and gently turned Chuck on his back, fitting the pillow under his head. “Walker, if I look up and see that grin one more time…”

Sarah cleared her throat. “Okay, sorry. It’s just so…” If she was going to say cute yet again…

“You know… I could be wrong about anything...” David had moved back to the side of the bed, and was absently tapping his fingers over the worn leather handle of his satchel. “No matter what I think,” he said, frowning at the kid’s face, “I can’t make an accurate diagnosis without the proper facilities. He should be in the hospital.”

“No chance. Too risky,” Casey broke in. “What are you thinking? I can see those nerd wheels turning.”

David slanted a look at Sarah. “Is he always this abrupt?” 

“Answer the fucking question,” Casey replied.

“Well. It’s… just odd, that’s all. I mean, based on everything you’ve told me… respiratory discomfort, aches, and obviously the fever and chills… in any other situation, I would say for some crazy reason, he’s been injected with Orthomyxoviridae – type B of course – but why would anybody–?”

“Einstein?”

“Y-yeah?”

“The only reason you’re still alive,” Casey said lowly, and from nowhere, the cool gunmetal of the SIG was pressed to David’s neck, “is that up to this point, you’ve provided a certain value to this op. But I gotta tell you, if you don’t explain –”

“– Influenza virus! The flu. Geez, do you have to be so –”

“The flu.” Casey rolled his eyes in contempt, and gave him a good poke with the barrel. “Let me get this straight, Einstein. Your brilliant diagnosis is that you think… after the government tested him, that Chuck was injected with a goddamn flu bug?” 

“Uh, yeah?”

“Well, that has to be,” and Casey pretended to deliberate before sneering, “the … stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard. The flu bug wouldn’t cause someone to pass out like that,” he muttered. “Now you listen to me, doctor. I want you to engage that nerd-noggin of yours,” emphasized with a muzzle tap hard to David’s temple, “and start spewing out something even remotely plausible, got that? The flu bug… fuck me.”

David bristled. “The flu may not cause someone to pass out, or have this type of reaction, but the lack of food –”

Casey found his voice. “You’re telling me these dickheads withheld food, too?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Chuck refused it. He told me he had no appetite – my patients usually have varied reactions to their new… circumstances.”

“When people are kidnapped and shoved underground, you mean.”

“Semantics,” David said, but quickly became sheepish. “Well, I’m not proud of it, but I had to threaten him… I told Chuck that I would put him on an NG-tube – a feeding tube – if he wouldn’t eat something. It was for his own good,” he added lamely. “That was when he got sick in the bathroom, and –”

“Fuck.” Casey dragged his fingers through his hair, finally lowering the gun. “Get back to your diagnosis, doctor.” 

“Okay, I’m simply saying that this could be the culmination of everything – being taken, no food, the sedatives, a viral injection… but without proper diagnostic equipment –”

“– which is too damn risky, I said –”

“– then, I’m back to the starting point that it appears to be the symptoms of the flu.”

“Then I’m back to the starting point where I get to shoot you.”

“Why would someone do that?” Sarah cut in, eyes narrowed. Pacing to the front of the dresser, she leaned against it, her arms folded over chest. “It makes no sense…”

“Walker, this guy has outlived his usefulness.”

Not missing a beat, Sarah turned to David. “But, let’s say… we do believe you –” 

“Eh. Not you too, CIA.” Casey glanced down at his boyfriend’s flushed face before giving her a dirty look. “You’re not going to actually listen to this moron?” 

“Wait, Casey… For the time being, let’s say he’s right.” Sarah fiddled with a stray clip that had been left on the dresser, her brow crinkled. “Answer this, doctor – do the people underground ever get… well, you know, sick?”

Casey recognized the inflection in her voice; the way she stood posed with her arms crossed when something had her riled up. This was the version of the blonde he actually missed as a partner. “What is it, Walker.”

“I’m asking the good doctor a question…You know, do they get sick?”

“Uh, of course, it happens from time to time… though the staff tries to be careful, always. But, yes, it’s unavoidable. Sometimes a detainee finds themselves with a contagious virus. Sometimes worse.”

“Detainee.” Casey raised a brow at him. “And you said we like to twist the language around. You mean prisoner.”

David’s eyes drifted over his patient, brooding. “You sound like him. Chuck told me the same thing when we met.” 

“What happens next?” Sarah asked. “There has to be protocols.”

Casey grunted in agreement, watching David squirm under her eagle eye.

“Well, of course we move the patient onto an isolated floor,” David explained. “The bunker is like a self-contained city underground. Heating… ventilation… it’s recycled through the air vents, and with an air-born virus, well… on occasion…” He stopped, shrugged uncomfortably. “You could think of it as a mini-pandemic, I guess. Illness can spread as quickly as a kiddie’s daycare down there. But, it’s rare, thankfully.”

“And if one of your prisoners becomes very ill?”

“You mean, if I can’t treat the prisoner – damn, now you have me doing it – with the resources in the bunker? Yes, that’s happened too. Once or twice we’ve had to transport a patient to Loudoun. There’s a secure wing there that we use.”

“Walker, where are you going with this?”

What the hell? The blonde ignored him, keeping her eyes on David. Switching gears. “Has anyone ever escaped from the Sterling facility?”

“Of course not!” David sounded almost offended. “That would be unheard of. Impossible. The security is state of the art, and the staff at Sterling has access to the most advanced –”

The sound of a throat clearing made David turn his attention to Casey. “Care to retract that, brainiac?” Casey asked smugly. 

“Oh… oh. I stand corrected. Until, uh, him of course.”

Casey turned back to the blonde. “Okay, for a moment, Walker, let’s say that this is true.” He squared his shoulders, eyeing her skeptically. “Why would we – the government – do something like that to get him out of there, when we already have the –” 

Damn it. 

Casey snorted at the words that had just come out of his mouth. 

And Sarah Walker was already grinning at him by the time he looked up. “Want to tell me what you’re thinking now?” she asked.

“Unless it’s not … we,” Casey finished with a huff.

“Well, it’s feasible, right?” Sarah nodded, pleased that her ex-partner had joined her on the same page. “Maybe they knew somehow – about Chuck. So if they figured there was no way to get him out from underground without raising suspicions –”

“Can I ask a question?” The spies turned in unison to see David still sitting on the bed, now with his hand raised in the air. “Uh, just a small one, actually. What the hell are you talking about? Who’s they?”

In reply, Casey rolled his eyes and turned his back to him. “Okay, Walker,” he rumbled, dragging a hand over the back of his neck while he studied her. “Let’s say that they had agents planted at our facilities, waiting for a special delivery that they knew would be coming eventually.” His eyes fell to Chuck, taking a few seconds to absorb that. Shit. They knew. “It would just be a matter of waiting for someone who met the profile – by now, they must have at least one goddamn clue who has it –”

“It? For the record, I’m very confused right now.”

“Shut up,” they said at the same time. “And for the record?” Casey added. “Don’t talk again.”

“Shutting up,” David replied, mouth snapping shut in a hurry.

“So, when Chuck shows up at one of the facilities, it’s like Christmas for them. They test him –”

“Yeah, and they conveniently get permission from Beckman herself to perform their little tests. To verify… it.”

Sarah blew out an exhale. “And they inject him with this god awful stuff to make him ill –”

“– just for the medical clarification, it’s an RNA virus –”

“Walker, you still have that pillowcase? ‘Cause I’m gonna stuff it so far –”

David gave Casey a panicked grin. “Continue. Please.”

With one last glance at the pillowcase, he shifted back to face Sarah. “Of course, those slippery maggots are careful about what they give him – it won’t cause too much damage to –” and Casey flicked a look at David’s face, full of bewilderment. “Chuck’s skill set. Just enough, so that they can get him out of the bunker – no questions or explanations. A place where security isn’t quite as tight as forty-feet under. Then, the asset mysteriously disappears.”

“Which means one thing,” Sarah said firmly, keeping her eyes glued on her former partner. “Reynolds is –”

“Fulcrum,” Casey finished for her, pacing like a caged bear. “They’re on the inside.”

Sarah gave him a bruised look. “Fulcrum doesn’t give up. They’ll keep getting closer, Casey.”

“Chrissakes… Beckman.” His spine snapped straight to the feel of teeth gnawing at his stomach. “She let this happen. Thought he wasn’t safe in Burbank any longer, and almost handed Chuck to them on a silver platter.”

“Uh, what’s a Fulcrum? I mean, besides the obvious – you know, a support where a lever pivots around –”

Son of a bitch.

Deliberately, Casey turned to the doctor and lowered his gaze, close enough for David to see the flecks of grey in his irises. “I am a very… patient man,” he carefully drawled. “But, if it weren’t for the fact that I need you to reach into that bag and pull out something that’s gonna help him… well, I woulda plugged your geeky ass by now.”

“Don’t take it out on him, Casey.” Sarah’s tenacious grip on his upper arm was more of a signal than anything, since they both knew she wouldn’t be able to budge him. “He’s not Fulcrum. He’s one of us.”

Eh. Walker. There was a slight chance she was right, but he poked the young doctor in the chest with a large finger anyway. “We going to assume for the moment you’re right. So, move.”

David flicked an appreciative glance at Sarah, and reaching into the bag, immediately began flipping through the pockets. “I have an antiviral drug I can administer,” he said, unzipping a slim case. “Though it may not help him if the Orthomyxoviridae has spread as much as I think it has. But, I do have other medications that can help with his symptoms. Make Chuck more comfortable, at least.”

The agent fought the urge to punch the stuffing out of something Damn Hard for what they did to him. Making his way to the edge of the bed, Casey took a seat next to his boyfriend, and reached up to touch his thumb to his forehead. Warm. He wiped away the beads of sweat. 

“…hey kid…?” Still nothing. 

He despised waiting games. Biting down on his lip, Casey threaded his fingers through the kid’s dark waves, separating the plastered down locks with his fingers. He delicately brushed them off his forehead, looping a mess of curls behind his ear… and Christ he wanted Chuck to open his eyes and give him that crazy-ass blinding smile.

“How do we know if your diagnosis is right, doctor?” Casey looked up, and oh, hell, that little Einstein had been watching his hand. “What if it’s not?” 

David mulled that over while he removed the cap from one of the tubes. “Well, when Chuck wakes up, he’ll be the one to let us know.” Casey raised a brow at him, so David shrugged and went on to explain, “If the medicine helps him, his fever will go down, his muscles and head will feel better… and, he’ll be hungry.” The doctor hesitated as he applied the salve to the abrasions. “I know this is going to be a problem for you, considering your situation… but he really shouldn’t be moved for three days. He’ll need rest.”

Casey snorted. Three days. They would be lucky if they had three fucking hours before he had to blow out of this shit hole and hit the road. A million things could happen by then – things that he didn’t want to think about – so he kept his focus on the doctor, watching him root thought the black leather bag again. David pulled out three vials, and with an ease of familiarity, he filled three syringes with exact precision.

Casey’s face clouded up. “The kid hates needles, you know.”

“I know. Most of my patients do.” David held up the first one and tested the plunger, watching a tiny thread of liquid dribble out the top. “It’s a good thing this one isn’t for him, then, isn’t it?”

“… the hell?”

“It’s… for you.” David shifted on the bed to look up at Sarah. “All three of us actually.”

Casey stiffened, sliding back on the mattress to put some distance between himself and the needle David was holding. “What are you babbling about now?” 

“It may be too late for Chuck … I mean, for the antiviral drug to be effective, but it’s not too late for us. Each of us will need an injection.”

“You’re damn well not gonna stick that thing in my arm. Besides, I didn’t … get close … enough to get anything.”

“Casey?” The blonde nibbled on her lip to stop the smile from forming, but the corner of her mouth quirked up anyway. “Not close enough? You kissed him, for god sakes!”

“Oh, you, um, kissed?” David stammered. “That would do it.” 

“More than once.” Walker didn’t even have the common courtesy to try and hide the toothy grin any longer. “I think that qualifies as ‘up close and personal’ with your highly contagious boyfriend, hmm? So, hold out your arm for the nice man, and you might get a sucker when you’re done.”

“Screw you,” Casey griped, but after narrowing his eyes at the needle one more time, he begrudgingly held out his forearm. 

-x-  
Some genius had decided that the seedy motel would be dressed up with the simple addition of white painted Adirondack chairs scattered along the narrow porch out front. Picking up one of the chairs, Casey moved it next to the motel room door and flopped down in the seat. It did nothing to help the weary ache in his bones, but at least the vantage point gave him a view of the road, and let him watch the sunrise beginning to peek between the ruffling leaves. 

“Here.” He almost jolted when a steaming cup of vending machine coffee was waved under his nose. “Still prefer black and bitter?” Sarah held it out and waited for him to take it. “Or has that changed too?”

Letting the last comment slide, he gave her one curt but grateful nod, and took the cup. “Need another car,” he said, stretching his legs out and taking a long drink. “We’ll be on the road as soon as Chuck wakes up.”

“Are you nuts, Casey?” Sarah put her own coffee down on the arm of the chair. “He can’t handle a road trip right now, and you sure as hell can’t just pick him up and make him go on the run with you. Not when he’s like this.”

“We’re not running,” Casey replied flatly. “We’re going back to Burbank. I have some… loose ends to tie up there.”

“Well, that confirms it. You answered my first question, because if you think you can waltz back to Burbank, you are completely nuts. You’ll be walking into a trap. It’ll take all of five minutes after you show your faces, and Chuck will be back underground, and you’ll find yourself at Fort Leavenworth. Carving chess pieces out of soap for the next fifty years.”

Casey gave her a look. It wasn’t often the blonde resorted to theatrics. “I have a plan, Walker. I’m not an idiot, ya’ know.”

“But you are stubborn as hell.” She picked up her coffee, and then eyed him, running her finger along the rim of her cup. “Okay, I’m sure you do have a plan, but the car trip? You heard the doctor. That’s not going to work.”

Casey rested a toe on the railing, and scraped a clump of mud off the bottom of his boot – which gave him a suitable lead-in for the next subject. “Bryce? You talked to the douche?” 

“Yes.” Sarah paused to take a gulp of coffee. Nice avoidance tactic, but Casey raised a brow at her. The blonde had a sour look, and it wasn’t due to the thick-as-sludge joe. “He called me when I was on my way to pick up our friend –”

“– He was awake already? Heh. Next time, you gotta slug him like you mean it, Walker.”

“Yeah, well, whatever it was, it worked because … let’s say, he had a change in his perspective,” she said. “When Bryce woke up in the stairwell, he told the security detail you had overpowered him. That you swiped the badge and used it to escape. They think I disappeared behind you, being the good little spy that I am. Following orders and hot on your tail.”

“Doesn’t matter what Bryce did.” There. He managed to free the mud clod, and stomped it into the cement. “Just remind the little dickhead that I’m gonna kill him when I see him next. Can you do that, Walker?”

“Kill him? I hate to disappoint you, but I’m pretty sure whatever Bryce is, he’ll be left singing Kumbaya and eating Twinkies with the cockroaches on the other side of the apocalypse.” 

Casey grunted, amused with a layer of ‘I’m still gonna kill him.’ “Chuck?”

“Bryce told me that they think you managed to get him out. Beckman’s got every agency looking for both of you.” She lightly pinched his shoulder, but feeling Casey stiffen, the blonde pulled her hand away. “And when this is over, you owe Chuck’s dad a thank you, because, it appears there’s been a sighting of a certain handler and his priceless missing asset somewhere outside of Pittsburgh.” Sarah glanced towards the motel room door at the mention of Chuck. “Back to this plan of yours. Burbank?”

Casey rested the coffee on his knee and gave her a squint. Having his judgment questioned was the last kind of shit he wanted to deal with. “Got a better idea?”

“Well,” she said, heaving a breath before venturing further. “Would a CIA requisitioned Gulf Stream work for you?”

Casey snorted into his coffee. “You thought I was crazy? Pot and kettle, Walker,” he told her, sounding drained. “Too risky.”

“Hear me out. I have a … friend – a contact who knows how to keep his mouth shut – and he’s pitched in once or twice. Those times when I’ve needed to act on behalf of the agency … without their knowledge.”

“Nice way to say ‘when your bosses fuck up and you need to go in stealth to fix their decisions’,” he chuckled. “Been there, done that, Walker. I get it.”

“Well, then, you know I can get the plane. Off the record flight plans. Wherever you want to go.”

“I already told you where I’m going.”

“If you insist.” Sarah wasn’t even trying to hide her discomfort with his decision. “It’s settled then. I need to make a few phone calls. The plane can be ready after breakfast.”

“Too soon.” Casey eyed a car whizzing by and shook his head. “I’m going to try and get a few hours of shut eye. When the kid wakes up, I want Einstein to check him over and then get the hell out of here,” he said, shifting his eyes to her. “Then, I was hoping you could stay with Chuck for awhile.”

“Okay, I guess.” Sarah sized him up with an inquisitive gaze. “Can I ask what this is all about?’

“I have some business to wrap up here in Sterling.” Icy blue eyes stormed. A raw, primitive anger forced his chiseled jaw tight. 

But the next thought refueled his energy. “I’m making an appointment … with a certain doctor in town,” he said, taking a drink. “I’m feeling a little pasty.” 

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Simple,” he said. “It means, it’s my turn.”

-x-

“Hey, Danny-boy, ya’ old bastard, how’s things with Sandra and the kids?”

Dead silence at first. “Do I always have to bust your balls over this, McClure? It’s Cindy. Jesus. We served two years together in the Special Forces – and you’ve even met Cindy a few times. You think you’d remember her name by now.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry about that.” And when we were in Special Forces, you weren’t so damn pussy-whipped. McClure rolled his eyes, and tucked the cell phone on his shoulder so he could rifle through a report. “Where do they have you? Still at Fort Meade?”

“Yeah. Why are you calling me so damn early?”

“I need you to check on someone for me.”

More dead silence. “Hey… listen, McClure, is this…on the up and up? I mean, the last time you called in one of these favors… well, Patterson handed us our asses with that one, so I’m gonna have to pass on this –”

“No, nothing like that.” McClure stopped him before his pal could over-think the scenario. “Here me out. I’m on a special assignment – you’ve heard of the John Casey situation, I assume? 

“Hell, yes. Everyone’s looking for that big bastard. Again. What the hell happened at Sterling last night?”

“Incompetence, right? Now here’s the deal. I think I know how to get to him.”

“So, why the hell –”

“Because Beckman is taking the pussy route on this one.” Which had McClure flummoxed, since it wasn’t her usual ball-busting modus operandi. “Won’t take action on the Intel I provided.”

“Then you need to back off, McClure.”

“Listen, Danny. I know I’m right this time. I know where he’s getting his help.” McClure lowered his voice, though he was certain the rest of the team had walked over to the Large Mart plaza for breakfast burritos. “I need you to tail someone for me. Find out who she’s been talking to, where she is, if she calls in any favors. I wanna know everything.”

“Who are you talking about?” Danny asked, still on the fence. 

“She’s CIA. Went by the name of Sarah Walker at one time.” McClure shot a glance up the stairs when he thought he heard a noise. “I’m running out of time here. You in?”

“Oh, hell,” Danny finally sighed, sounding resigned. “Alright, I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good, good to hear,” McClure breathed a sigh, grinning into the phone. “I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Dan-oh. Knew I could count on a friend.”

The lieutenant sat back in his chair, and linked his fingers behind his heard. Yes, he was worn out by the fucked-up whirlwind of a week he had been through… but maybe, it was beginning to take a turn.

-x-

“Uh, hi?” Oh God, was that his voice?

The kid didn’t remember the exact moment he had swilled a Tabasco and jalapeno milk shake, but why else would his throat be punishing him like this? It stung like hell, scratchy and jagged, forcing Chuck to swallow hard and try again. Re-focusing his watery eyes, he reached out from under the blanket, and lightly tapped the doctor’s knee. “David?” Chuck whispered. “What are you… doing here?”

David groaned softly and sat up in his chair, rubbing the side of his neck, obviously working out a crick. Slapped with the memory of how he arrived there, he blinked at the kid’s dazed face. “Well,” the young doctor huffed, “that’s a long story. My only advice… the blonde?”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah, her. Avoid her when she’s armed with a pillowcase. She can be vicious, that one.”

“Um, oookay. I really don’t want to know, do I?”

“No, definitely not.” The doctor tilted his head toward the corner of the room, and whispered intently, “but not as surly as that guy.”

Chuck’s eyes followed the tilt of his head until they landed on ‘that guy’. Propping himself up on his elbows, the kid couldn’t stop a crooked grin as he took in the view. Casey had managed, somehow, to fall asleep in one of the seats at the table. His broad back was leaning cockeyed in the chair; his sharp chin resting on his chest… legs that went for miles stretched out in front of him… worry momentarily erased from his features.

Damn.

“How long has he been like that?” Chuck asked, kicking out with his feet to straighten the blanket. Wait. Something was decidedly off… 

“Oh, no.”

David gave him a curious look and peeked at his watch. “About an hour, I guess. Is something wrong?”

“Yes, you could say that. I’m… naked under here!” Chuck hissed, indignant.

“Keep it down, unless you want to awaken the terrible sleeping giant.” David held up his hand to stop him from asking the inevitable question poised on Chuck’s lips. “They said you passed out in the shower. That was about three hours ago, I think.” 

Despite the dull headache, Chuck flopped his head back down on the pillow, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, God… They? Sarah was in there too?” 

“Well, if you really need to know about the whole naked thing, you can ask her when she gets back.” With a teasing grin, David unzipped a case from his black leather satchel and pulled out three plastic bottles. “She said she was going to find something more nutritious than vending machine HoHos and Bar-B-Q chips. That was about twenty minutes ago.”

“Ask her? I think I’ll pass on the opportunity for further humiliation,” Chuck mumbled. “I’d rather just forget this. All of it.” 

“Do you mind?” David held up a thermometer that he had fished out of the bag. “Need a reading. Sorry, it’s the old fashioned kind.”

“Wh-what?” Chuck’s eyes widened in horror. 

“Good. Keep your mouth open.” Before Chuck could react, David slid it under his tongue. “What did you think I meant? Oh. Oh!” In a beat, the young doctor’s face went bright crimson. “Ah… no, that is just wrong on so many levels. And, he would kill me.”

“…sorry. I’m a little out of it still, and I… you know what? Never mind.”

“Try to keep your mouth closed.” David smiled while he slanted a look at the thermometer. “Hard, I know.”

“Hilarious. M’kay,” Chuck said around the thermometer, ready to refute the comment, except right then, Casey shifted in the too-small chair, and grumbled in his throat. Mostly unintelligible, but Chuck swore he picked out the name Larkin and a few words still banned from all media, no matter how lax standards had fallen. 

“He doeshn’t look very comfrable like that, doesh he?”

“Shhh. Keep it under your tongue. And please don’t wake him up.”

“Mmm… s’rry.”

If he had to be quiet, Chuck was content to lean back against the pillow, and sink into one of his favorite covert past times. Watching his boyfriend sleep. Granted, Casey was probably uncomfortable, stuffed in the chair in that position, but Chuck loved to study his features when he was like this – every slope and angle of his cheekbones and jaw – with no reproach or steely barriers tossed up. A dangerous grace was ever present, but somehow restrained by sleep… his boyfriend was less hardened, less burned-out by his life when he dozed.

Casey shifted again, as if he had felt dark eyes heating his skin. The small movement brought Chuck back to the here and now, and it puzzled the kid that David had been silently watching him, could see his Adam’s apple bob as the doctor swallowed.

Oh. It occurred to Chuck that David was probably trying to get a reading on the thermometer. 

“Is it donf?” Chuck mumbled, propping himself up higher.

“Uh, yes… Let’s see where you’re at.” David took the instrument from his mouth and held it under the light. “Huh. An improvement. And even overall, you’re feeling better… I can tell.”

“Better?” Chuck took the bottle of water off the night table. “Well, let’s meet in the middle and say less like crap.” 

“Good,” David said with a small smile. “I’ve been wrong about plenty in my life.” He stopped to swab the thermometer before stuffing it away. “But, I’m glad I was right about you.” The kid saw his face become oddly flushed, and the young man busied himself by grabbing the stethoscope and sliding it inside the bag. “Keep drinking as much as you can, okay?” David told him, nodding at the water bottle.

“Nag, nag, nag,” Chuck muttered, attempting a joke, but the doctor didn’t look up. What was that all about? Well, the kid figured the method of persuasion the spies had used to get David here had probably shaken him a bit. Understandably, really. After all, Chuck had nearly crapped his pants when he had the privilege of meeting them for the first time.

David started to say something, but the sound of gravel under car tires cut him off. He went to the window and lifted the edge of the thick drape, peeking outside. Chuck saw him wince. “Oh. Your friend with a penchant for bed linens is back.” 

“Bed linens? Oh, tell me she didn’t…” The kid rested his back on the pillow and chuckled softly. “Admittedly, they’re both a little scary at first, but she’s not so bad when you get to know her.”

“And him?”

“He’s … not so bad either,” Chuck smiled, shifting his eyes to his boyfriend. Besides bending one of his legs and folding his arms over his chest, the big guy hadn’t moved or twitched at the sound of the car pulling up.

Wow. Casey really was mortal. He looked exhausted, Chuck thought, like he hadn’t slept in … well, how many days had it been since Chuck was snatched by the government? 

The guilt that stewed in his gut threatened to spill over. 

“I have to go,” David announced flatly, his eyes light brown eyes averted before Chuck see what was behind them. Fear, no doubt. Not that he could blame him.

“Right …now?”

“Yep, right now. You’re going to be fine.” Bustling, David stuffed the small case back into the bag, and began digging around through one of the satchel’s side pockets. “You don’t need me any longer. It’s too dangerous and risky for me to be here,” he said, lowering his voice. Turning to Chuck, David held out his hand. Inexplicably, it was clenched tight in fist. “Here. I have something for you.”

“What… is it?” Who could blame him for being cautious? Since the Intersect had been sprung into his life, Chuck usually didn’t want the things people tried to give him.

“Just hold out your hand, will ya? Oh, and close your eyes.” 

Well, he trusted David, right? It took a minute, but he did as he was told, and closing his eyes, the kid held out his hand. A moment later, Chuck felt the rigid sides and corners of a tiny box, one that could sit in his palm. Slowly, he cracked one eye open. A spade?

The kid blinked at him. “You’re giving me… a deck of cards?”

David grinned, but it stopped before it lit up his eyes. “Not just a deck of cards. More specifically, a Euchre deck.” He nodded, strangely looking a little lost for words. “You know, you were showing some real promise, kid, and I think with some practice, you might just get the hang of it.”

No matter how badly he wanted to pretend to be offended by the gift, Chuck couldn’t stop the lop-sided grin. “It makes no sense. Think about it… in what part of the universe does a jack beat an ace… you never could explain that properly, you know. And I think you did that on purpose, just so that you could whip me at your silly card game.”

A deep noise from the corner made both of them twist around for a look. Chuck noticed his boyfriend wriggle a wide shoulder against the back of the chair, trying to get comfortable, though the kid wondered how in the world he could even sleep with his head cranked at a weird angle. 

“The giant stirs. That’s my cue,” David said quietly, and he stood up and stuck out his hand. “If I ever see you again, we’ll have a killer rematch, okay? No holds barred.”

See him again? As in a bunker? “No offense, David, but I hope I never see you again.”

David let his hand drop from the handshake, and accidentally tipped over one of the pill bottles. An inscrutable expression drifted over his face, only for a flash before it evaporated. Maybe Chuck hadn’t seen it… just the shadows on his cheeks and chin from the small lamp on the nightstand. 

Clearing his throat, David nodded at the row of plastic bottles. “The directions are self explanatory.” They both heard the motor cut off in the parking lot. “I’m going to meet her out outside. You’ll be fine, kid … and I have a pretty strong suspicion that he’s not going to let anything happen to you.” 

Chuck settled back on the pillow, eyes locked on Casey’s face. There was no doubt in his belly and down to his toes that it was true. Every memory of his life with Casey told him the same. 

“I’m lucky to have him.” 

When he pulled his eyes away and up… Oh. David’s light brown eyes were pinned on him, full-on. “Can I …?” Without waiting, the young man lifted a hand and there was just a touch, a cool smooth palm pressing down on Chuck’s forehead.

Okay, he wants to make sure my temperature hasn’t rocked off the charts again before he leaves. But when David dragged his hand away, Chuck swore he felt one lingering caress of knuckles at his temple. God, what was in that bottle, making him a little loopy?

“Good-bye, kiddo.” David scooped up the bag from the end of the bed, and started towards the door. “I’ll catch her in the parking lot.” 

“Wait… you’re not going to tell anyone…”

David stopped in his tracks. “Of course not.” With a look at the mountain of muscle sprawled out in the chair, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Besides, if he thought I would turn you in, well, I’d never walk out of here.”

“He’s really not as dangerous as he looks,” Chuck smiled lamely. “Uh, once you get past the, you know, guns and growling and all...” 

“Yeah, well that and the choke hold threw me off my game a little.” David grinned at him, but it faded by the time he reached the door. “Oh, and Chuck? One more thing.” One hand on the knob, he inclined his head, and the kid could feel his gaze sliding over his skin like a warm breeze. It wasn’t a bad thing. 

“Hmm?”

“He’s … lucky too. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

Chuck swallowed hard, saying nothing. How could he? For a person who had been given an abundance of words, the kid grappled with how to say good-bye or anything else that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot.

In the end, he just watched his friend leave. Funny. David only looked back once, giving him a look that mystified Chuck, before closing the door behind him. 

-x-End Chapter Four Part Two-x-


	5. Chapter Five Part One

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Five Part One)

 

-x-

 

The snap of an automatic weapon ratcheting a clip into its chamber forced Chuck to jolt backwards, smacking into the doorframe. Clinging to one of the pill bottles, he stared down into the rumpled blankets and blinked while his watery eyes focused.

 

“Uh, stand down, major,” Chuck said with a forced smile, just this side of panicked. “It’s only me.”

 

“Jesus,” he heard in a broken rasp. “You’re up.”

 

When Chuck’s eyes adjusted to the dark, the first thing he saw was Casey’s pillow-smashed hair, one short piece standing up at a funny angle on the side of his head. Chuck almost grinned. However, grins were hard to come by because he was more focused on the deadly weapon now pointed at his head.

 

“Soooo, uh, are we a little on edge this morning?”

 

“I swear, Bartowski,” and Casey stopped to rub his eyes as he set the weapon on the night table, “one of these days, when you wake me out of a sound sleep, I will accidentally shoot and ask questions later.”

 

“That would make conversation at the breakfast table slightly uncomfortable, don’t you think?” Chuck replied drolly. When Casey gave him a sour look, the kid sighed and repeated back the mantra Casey had drilled into him. “Yeah, yeah, one lesson I should know by now. Never abruptly wake a spy –”

 

“– or you could get an ass full of lead,” Casey finished, letting his eyes drift around the room. “Are they –”

 

“They were gone when I woke up,” Chuck answered before Casey could get it out. “You were sleeping pretty hard not to notice.”

 

“Needed it,” Casey breathed to himself, shifting his gaze to Chuck. The kid could almost feel the heated physical touch of his eyes on him; he stood in the doorway a few feet away and let his boyfriend take in every lean surface, every long angle of his bare skin. “You… okay?” Casey finally asked quietly.

 

Thinking of the one thing that would make those worry lines on Casey’s face smooth out only took a beat. Chuck let out a breath. “I am now.”

 

“You had better not be lying to me, kid.”

 

Chuck squinted at his boyfriend, sprawled out under the covers, and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Totally steady on my feet. See, no hands, Dad,” he said. As if on cue, a coughing fit worked its way out of his raw throat, and the kid ducked his head and covered his mouth. “Ew. Still, ah, a little bit with the… sorry.”

 

“Bartowski.” Casey’s eyes were hardened, his teeth clenched.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Never, ever, call… me… that.”

 

“What? Oh… Dad?” he asked, biting down to stop the smile. “It’s just – ah – a euphemism. Nothing to get worked up about.”

 

At any other point, Casey may have latched onto Chuck and kissed him into submission for that little crack, but he was obviously weighing that against the threat of contagion. Instead of the kiss, Casey narrowed his eyes at him. “Well, looks like the little Einstein was right on this one,” he said, then added to himself while fluffing the pillow to drown it out, “though, he wouldn’t be wrong about you.”

 

Even through his swampy sinuses, Chuck heard every word. He tilted his head and crinkled his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Casey muttered something unintelligible. After a few seconds, his lip curled up in a half-smile. “You don’t… you never figured out that particular gem, eh?”

 

“Uh, figured what out.”

 

“Heh. Of course not. Nothing,” he snickered. Stretching his legs under the blankets, Casey scrubbed his face with his palms, now fully awake thanks to nearly capping his boyfriend. “Where’s Walker, anyway?”

 

“She left with David. Taking him home, I hope.” Chuck popped a few tablets and chased them down with a long drink of water.

 

“Or killing him. Leaving the body in a dumpster outside of town.”

 

“Ha. Funny. But I know you’re lying because your eyes are doing that squint thing.”

 

Casey grunted. Busted.

 

“I’m glad you woke up and found the other side of the bed,” Chuck told him, setting down the bottle. “Oh, and not just for the copious amount of body heat you bring to the equation.”

 

“Yeah? What other reason?” A whisper of a touch on Chuck’s thigh sent a fiery prickle over his skin, and when he looked down, the kid felt the burn of blue eyes, lazily drifting over his body. Which reminded him of something that seemed important.

 

“Speaking of body heat, where are those clothes you had for me?”

 

Casey settled back against the pillow, one hand tucked behind his head. Being very vague about the clothes, Chuck watched his gaze course over his bare chest… down his narrow hips… the dark trail of hair at his shaft. His boyfriend made a deep noise in his throat and rolled on to his side to make room on the mattress. “Come back to bed.”

 

“Do what now?” Chuck managed to blurt out. Taking in the view of his boyfriend, blanket bunched down low on his hips, the kid stayed rooted a few feet from the bed. The bathroom light behind him draped his shadow over Casey’s body, and Chuck squinted to make out the look on his face. “Um, you know, I really shouldn’t –” His chest, still burning, sent up another cough that forced him to end it there. “You know… I’m not quite –”

 

“Chrissakes.” Casey shook his head. “Look at you, Bartowski. You’re a Polish pandemic with hairy legs,” he snorted. “Wouldn’t let ya’ give me a hand job with sterile gloves right now.”

 

“And tender moment completely gone,” Chuck deadpanned and folded his arms over his bare chest. “You know, I’m thankful in times like these that your parents had the foresight to steer you away from the medical field. Because, I’ve gotta tell you, Casey, your bedside manner –”

 

“C’mere, kid. Get in bed.” His tone lost some of the rough edge, and holding out the blanket, Chuck caught a glimpse of his boyfriend’s long legs, rounded calves tucked under the covers. “Warm spot is up for grabs, eh?”

 

Well, Casey’s warm spot was calling out temptingly, and Chuck was listening. He reached around the corner along the bathroom wall and flipped off the light, bathing the room in black. “You know, I may rethink that whole bedside manner demeanor,” he told him. “Maybe it’s not completely lacking in its charm.” Fluffing the pillow, Chuck slid into the open spot Casey had proffered. “…mmm…. and it certainly comes with interesting accoutrements.”

 

“Accoutr – get over here, you’re letting all the warm air out.” Casey dragged a muscled arm over his waist and pulled him in firmly along his body, the distance between them evaporating. “Mmm, bony but better.”

 

That familiar swelter he thought he had lost enveloped him; the kid suppressed a tremor. Was it his fault that Casey could have this effect on him, that he had a tightly packaged broad chest, which he still fit into wholly, and a hungry kiss that delved deep. Running his palm along Casey’s heated skin, Chuck splayed a hand over his bare chest, his other hand curled loosely over the pillow. His flush was palpable; every point of contact lit the nerves of his body.

 

This was now. No government bunkers or interference, no spy missions or near death experiences. In a dark motel room outside of Sterling, the universe was only two bodies entwined, connected like a knotted fist. Chuck dragged his hand up over Casey’s collarbone, tracing the line of his nose, brushing his thumb along the sharp angle of his jaw. The kid took his time, studying every curve and slope, memorizing every detail of his weary face.

 

“… Casey?”

 

“… hmm?”

 

“You feel good.”

 

Chuck put his head down, eyes closed, his damp forehead pressed to Casey’s chest, inhaling the scent of his skin. He could torture himself, his mind rolling up in a tight ball, trying to think of way to say it.

 

After a half minute, he licked his lips and jumped in, knowing eventually he would find a way to get there.

 

“There are things,” Chuck murmured, looking up again and letting his fingers follow a path to the hollow of his throat, “that I still want to do. I have one of those lists… a list of things to experience at least once in my life.”

 

“You have… a list.” Casey chuckled, and taking the finger that was beginning to bug the heck out of him, he bit down on it gently. The gesture may have been teasing, but when he tipped his chin down to meet Chuck’s eyes, he was listening. “And?”

 

“Well, it’s only twenty-three things – that are left.”

 

“How many did you start with?” Casey asked, scratchy, but sounding more awake.

 

“Twenty-five.”

 

Casey’s forehead creased, not answering, drawing the tips of his fingers down Chuck’s upper arm. His eyes shifted to the ceiling, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slow. “Gonna make me guess, Bartowski?”

 

Half-listening for the laugh that would be sure to come, Chuck went back to tracing his fingertip lightly over Casey’s skin, this time through the soft patch of chest hair, his thumb brushing over one of his nipples. When he heard a hitch in his chest, he brushed his thumb there again.

 

“No, no… not a secret,” Chuck said, and with one last loop with his finger, he let his hand drop. “Okay, the first one… well, not in any order: ride a horse.”

 

“Ride… a horse? Heh.” Casey paused. “Wait, you’ve never ridden a horse before?”

 

“Nope. See? You were surprised.” Rubbing his nose, Chuck brought his head up high enough to find that perfect spot in the crook of Casey’s shoulder. “City kid, remember? And, it seems like one of those things I should at least be able to say I’ve done at least once, right?”

 

Rough fingertips tracing the swell of the kid’s bicep stilled, and Casey’s mouth bunched up as he thought about it. “Point,” he agreed at last, starting up the slow drag of his palm again. “What else?”

 

“Teach someone to read.”

 

Okay, Casey did laugh at that, but it was deep and warm. “Hate to tell ya this kid, but the chances of hearing the pitter patter of little feet are pretty much nil. Two plugs, no socket. Didn’t your sister explain this stuff to you?”

 

Chuck twisted onto his stomach and rested his chin on Casey’s chest. “As far as the pitter patter, very funny, but I kind of accepted that fact a few months ago.” Chuck flushed, realizing he had just told Casey he was in for the long haul, even if he had never truly said it before now. “It doesn’t have to be my child, or even a child. That’s the rule. I get to make them up, well, because, it’s my list. It can be anybody.”

 

“Hell. It could be the horse. Then you could get a two-fer.”

 

Chuck tried to point him a look of annoyance, but with Casey smiling at him, he felt the need to smile back. “I knew you couldn’t be serious about this.”

 

“I am serious,” he chuckled. “What else is on that list of yours?” He jostled Chuck’s chin, still nested on his chest.

 

“Nuh-uh. Not after the horse and pitter patter remark.” Chuck stuck out his tongue at him, holding back a wide grin. “I can see you don’t take this whole life list thing seriously.”

 

Casey grunted. “So why are you even telling me this?”

 

Because he expected Casey be there to tick off every last one of those damn things to prove he was worth saving.

 

Chuck was about to tell him, but that was for later… and this was for now. “Casey?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Chuck heaved a breath. “I wasn’t able say this last night with everything that was happening –”

 

“You mean the breaking-out of a government bunker, with your ex-fake-girlfriend – and passing out on me thing?”

 

“Yeah, well that.” The kid brought his hand up, stroking it back and forth a few times over his boyfriend’s stomach, absently trailing his fingers to his lower belly. When he glanced up, he saw blue eyes riveted to his hand even in the darkness. “My point being, and I have a point here, is that the only reason I get to finish any of those things is because you came back for me.”

 

Casey didn’t move at first. The silence drew out for half a minute, and Chuck would’ve thought that perhaps Casey had fallen asleep, except for the coarse drag of Casey’s fingertips that took over on reflex. “Numb-nuts,” he finally said lowly. “Did you ever doubt me?”

 

A million times. And I regret each one. “No.”

 

“Of course I came back for you… that’s what… partners do.”

 

Chuck laid his head on Casey’s chest, hair tickling his cheek, and brushed his fingers along his boyfriend’s ribcage. “Partners. If only it were that easy, hmm?”

 

But Casey had gone very still, every muscle rigid even as his touch had seared his skin. Simply because the kid had taken him to a tenuous place where emotions could spill out all over them.

 

“… go to sleep…” Casey mumbled, batting his hand away.

 

Well, Chuck never doubted that his boyfriend loved him, but he also knew he was on the brink of thoroughly pissing him off. So, he stopped there. Why push it now, when the spot in the bed was warm and smelled really nice? Like Casey; musk and cedar, sandalwood mingled with strength.

 

There was only one thing keeping his heavy eyes from drooping closed.

 

“Casey?” Chuck sniffed, tilting his chin to glance up at him. Bleary eyes focused.

 

“Hmm.” A deep burr of a rumble against his cheek.

 

“I’d love to get some sleep,” he said. “But that’s going to impale my leg if you don’t move it.”

 

Even in the darkness, Chuck could make out an expression that normally wasn’t part of Casey’s arsenal of looks. Eyes flicked sideways, avoiding him, as he straightened the blanket sheepishly. But, what could he say, really? The kid lifted up his head and dropped a kiss in the curve of Casey’s neck, and smiled teasingly. One that Casey was sure to feel against his skin.

 

“Stop messing around, then.” With a groan of exasperation, Casey scooched his hips back a little and settled into his side of the bed. “… just be happy it still works after these past few weeks, eh?”

 

“… seems to be in top operational order…” Chuck’s smile grew. “… missed you too…” he whispered against Casey’s bare skin.

 

Missed this. Because, Holy God, who was he kidding? Naked, entangled in his boyfriend’s arms… hell yes, he wanted it too… Wanted to touch him, feel his length between his fingers, grip the slide of steel along his palm… incredibly hard, but silky against his touch, his tongue… .

 

Someone was swiping the motel key card in the door, and a second later, there was a metallic click of the lock being released. A burst of sunshine blinded both of them. Right before he covered his eyes, Chuck got a peek at a slim silhouette that could only belong to the CIA super-spy with a knack for excruciatingly poor timing. Sarah Walker.

 

“Hey… guys,” she said, sounding way too perky. “Did I wake you up?”

 

“We were awake,” Casey grumbled, scooting his hips back another eight inches or so. Barely far enough.

 

“Oh? Huh. Well, I’m glad to hear that you must be feeling much better, Chuck,” she said. “I can come back later if you need me to.” Sarah moved to the foot of the bed and sat down between the lumps of feet, quirking her mouth. “Twenty minutes?”

 

And, oh God, she was eyeing each one of them for a tell-tale twitch, or Casey’s ‘just-got -some’ grin.

 

Because he has one.

 

“Sorry, Walker. You already missed the show,” Casey said, deliberately folding his arms behind his head and looking damned relaxed and comfortable. “You’ll have to go to YouTube for the replay. But while you’re up, can you pass me my duffle bag? Thought I’d spark up a cigar.”

 

“Casey! Sarah, he’s lying. We didn’t… uh, you know…” Afraid that Sarah might misinterpret the flush on his cheeks, Chuck sunk his head into the pillow and covered his face with his arms, pretending to block the light. “He’s trying to get a reaction out of you.”

 

Sarah averted her eyes, and laughed softly. “It worked.”

 

The NSA agent snorted and changed the subject, apparently deciding Chuck had been duly embarrassed enough. “What time is it, anyway?” Scratching the back of his neck, he propped himself up on his elbows, looking for the burner phone.

 

Sarah glanced at her watch. “It’s almost one fifteen.”

 

“Christ on a cracker, Walker.” Casey scowled. “Why did you let us sleep so long?”

 

She folded her arms over her chest. “Chuck wasn’t the only one who needed the rest.” Reaching for one of the lumps where she was sitting, Sarah waggled his toes playfully. “Casey, you’ve spent a week on the run, broke into a high level access government facility, and I’m sure you haven’t slept since you checked in here. You both needed rest.

 

“Rest. I’ve lasted six days in a foxhole, ass deep with snow, and no sleep,” he replied. “What’s the word out there?” Casey started to climb out of bed, but lifted a finger and made a half spin in the air, signaling that the blonde needed to turn her back unless she wanted a free show.

 

“They’re still focusing search activities in western Pennsylvania.” She rolled her eyes at Casey and shifted around, avoiding the sight of his bare ass.

 

– Which was a damn fortuitous opportunity for Chuck to peek under his forearm to catch that very sight, without having his fake-ex notice.

 

Oh, nice.

 

“Pennsylvania?” Chuck pulled his eyes away from the view of muscled butt cheeks, and his brows scrunched up. “Why are they –”

 

“It’s your dad, Chuck. Just like last night. He’s the reason your boyfriend has been able to avoid the wrong kind of attention while he crossed the country.”

 

Chuck held up his hand. “Okay, first, this seems like a pertinent question, but… where are we?”

 

“Virginia.” Casey lifted a shoulder, as if he had just told Chuck it would be partly cloudy today. “Sterling, Virginia.”

 

“Oh. Oh … Jesus, I’m far from home….” He stared at Casey, eyes wild with thought behind them. “I haven’t been out east since… wow. Ellie would be really angry about this.”

 

“Well, my plan is that she’ll never know about this little adventure.” Casey fished a pair of jeans out of his black duffle and pulled them on. “We’ll be back in Burbank by the time your sister gets home,” he said.

 

Chuck blinked, wide-eyed. “Burbank? Do you really think Beckman’s not going to notice that?”

 

“You worry about not spreading those damn germs,” Casey told him, digging around in his bag for a clean shirt. “Let me worry about this.”

 

When the words were out of his mouth, the burner phone chirped. “Shit. I thought I had turned that off,” Casey said under his breath.

 

“I turned it on,” Sarah told him. “You have to talk to him.”

 

“Wait, guys. Is that…?” Chuck’s eyes darted from the phone to his boyfriend, bare-chested as he sifted through his duffle. He could see Casey’s muscles on his back ripple and go taut with tension. One person in particular could wrestle that reaction from him. “Uh, is it … my dad, Casey?”

 

The agent fisted the polo shirt he was holding briefly before shrugging it on. “Christ.” Shaking his head, Casey swiped the phone from his nightstand and tossed it lightly onto the covers. “Keep it short, will ya’? So far, no one has traced it, but we can’t afford any screw-ups.”

 

Chuck scooped the burner off of the blanket and stared, as if he didn’t know what to do with it at first. Seventeen missed calls. One unknown caller waiting for someone to pick up. A pang of hurt blew through him, reminding him of the million times in the past eleven years when he wanted to press a button and hear that voice.

 

“H-hello…Dad?” He cleared his throat to rid it of the strangled noise. “It’s me.”

 

-x-

 

“Hey Dan-O.” McClure glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. Admittedly, there was a small dose of paranoia at work here due to the sensitivity of the topic, because he knew damn well there was no one else in Castle this morning. “I was hoping to hear from you …. Tell me ya got something for me.”

 

The hesitation made him wince. The man on the other end was obviously hemmed in by guilt. Protocol. “You gotta find someone else to be your bag boy,” Dan said quietly. “I feel like a shit for this.”

 

God, he was waffling, trying to worm out of it. McClure tapped his pen on the table, recognized that his friend would require some delicate handling to come clean with the Intel. He carefully modulated his tone, keeping it even, friendly.

 

“Listen, Dan, we talked about this. I know Walker is the one working with that big bastard. You want to have a part in his takedown, am I right?"

 

“Why would I ever make it known that I supplied information to you – without authorization? I don’t want to take the heat for this, McClure.”

 

Perhaps he had a point there, but the agent sure as hell wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “You know they’ll realize eventually that Beckman was wrong – that she shoulda let me bring in that bitch for questioning – and we’ll come out on top.”

 

The man blew a breath. “I’m only doing this because I owe you one. And I’ll say this once, so listen up: Walker has requisitioned a bird – under the radar – and it took some digging, but you can only guess the destination.”

 

“Just tell me, will you?”

 

“Vandenberg AFB.”

 

McClure leaned back in his chair and couldn’t help but smirk into the phone. “…sonovabitch… I knew it. Now, why would Ms. Walker be planning a side trip to southern California … lost her ruby slippers?”

 

“Well, that’s not all of it. She’s also scheduled on a return flight to Tripoli in thirty-six hours. That’s where she’s been operating the past few months.”

 

“Heh. Because any girl would want to hit the beach before heading back to Gaddafi’s playhouse.” To call it coincidental would be a stretching it. The flight had to be tied to John Casey and his asset – his little fuck buddy. Why else would she have any interest in returning to the place she fled? McClure tried not to sound too excited over this revelation, but hell, the thrill of the hunt, and the impending take down of the beast in the jungle was almost too much. “Tell me everything about the flight to Vandenberg.”

 

After a pause that had McClure wondering if they had been disconnected – or if his friend had decided to take the pussy route, Dan at last spoke up. “Well, just remember, you didn’t hear it from me.”

 

-x-

 

For the better part of thirty minutes, Casey let the conversation go, only half-listening to the kid’s attempt to keep it in check at the sound of his dad’s voice. Relief, fear, an aching vulnerability; it was all swirling around in there. But Casey refused to follow the conversation, because frankly, he didn’t need the distraction right now. Distractions get you killed…

 

… Distractions. Kind of like the six foot four variety. Every perfect naked inch. How easy would it be to climb back into bed, use those long-ass legs to –

 

God. Walker. Glancing over at him as if she’s following his thoughts. Ignoring her was easy enough, and the blonde kept herself busy sorting through a pile of white plastic shopping bags she had lugged in from the car; a good act, because she was obviously absorbing every word between Chuck and his father.

 

Probably reminding her of her own daddy issues. Hell, everyone has a fucked-up relationship with the parents.

 

Get over it, sister.

 

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Casey picked up his SIG and rammed a clip home. From this vantage point, he could see Walker’s face as she tried to keep that aloof bullshit going, and keep an eye on Chuck, slumped against a wad of pillows.

 

Look at him. Jesus. Those dark eyes were reflecting something far different than the smile he was pointing up at the ceiling. Still had no faith that they would find a way back, that he would see his dad’s face again, and seriously, who the hell could blame him for feeling that razor blade of doubt?

 

The agent focused on the gun, stashing clips and a giving it a quick polish, until he heard the cues that the conversation was coming to an end. Leaning over the kid, Casey tapped his knee to get Chuck’s attention. “I need to talk to your dad,” he said, his voice dry. “Pass it to me when you’re done.”

 

Shit. It took only one look at his nerdy boyfriend to know this request had been completely misinterpreted as the proverbial olive branch or god-knows-what, because by the time Casey reached out for the phone, Chuck had forgotten mid-sentence what he was telling his dad – and that blinding crooked grin was back.

 

Fuck. Walker was wearing one just like it, too.

 

Casey frowned as he swiped the phone out of Chuck’s hand. “I’ll be outside.”

 

“Whoa, hang on.” Chuck snatched his shirt sleeve and pulled him back onto the bed. “Let me get this straight.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, nodding at the phone in Casey’s hand. “You … want to talk… to my dad?”

 

Well, hell. Casey was under the impression he had kept his disdain for the old man under wraps a little better than that. Apparently, not so, if that look of stupor was any indication.

 

“I didn’t realize the two of you were, well, close…?” In the nick of time, the kid was interrupted by another hacking fit, which Casey used as an escape hatch to artfully change the topic.

 

“Listen.” He checked over his shoulder to see if Walker was still getting her eyeful – she had seemingly gone back to unloading a grocery bag – and he angled his back, purposely blocking her view.

 

“What is it?”

 

The agent answered by bending in close and tilting Chuck’s chin up to kiss him, fingertips of his other hand lightly digging into his thigh. Because, hell, if he was going to get sick, he wanted to make it worth the trouble, at least.

 

Cloudy brown eyes looked up at him, perplexed, only reminding Casey that he had been a pitiful caretaker so far. And for the next few hours, it was going to be Walker who would be playing nursemaid and forcing some sustenance on the kid.

 

Of course, Chuck wouldn’t understand, but today, Casey had a job to do. A business deal; a simple payment come due, and Casey liked to think of himself as the collection agency.

 

“After I talk to him, I’m going out for a while.”

 

“What? Where?”

 

“I need you to stay here with Walker until I get back.” Casey looked him in the eye, and let his fingers brush the inside of Chuck’s wrist, silently telling him to drop it. “Get some rest. Eat something. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

 

Chuck nodded slowly and shifted the pillow behind his back. “But, you didn’t –”

 

The purpose of the kiss is two-fold. One, he’s leaving. Two, it shuts him up.

 

-x-

 

When Casey closed the door, he held up a palm against the bright sunlight, and slouched into one of the chairs along the front porch. “Hey. I need some information.”

 

“Well, hello to you too, major.” The hard edge of that smugness from the old man had worn off, though. “Before you barrel ahead, which I know you’re getting ready to do… well, I’m …thankful for what you’ve done. For Charles… and for me.”

 

Christ. He could hear the ‘but’ that was coming, and the agent felt his jaw clench. “Yeah.” Not a question.

 

“But, what are your plans now, if I can ask?” Situation normal: the wise-ass smugness had returned.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Casey let his head fall back against the chair. “Burbank. We’ve arranged for transportation –”

 

“– Are you nuts? They’ll be waiting for you, ready to pounce, and my son will be right back –”

 

“You think I don’t know that. Fu –” Eh, Keep it in check, soldier. Casey groaned and started over. “I have a plan, and you … need to trust me on this.”

 

The dead air stretched a mile until Stephen Bartowski breathed out a laugh. “As long as I can be here to assist, then, yes, I’ll trust you, major,” he said.

 

There were very few moments in his life – jetting between ass-kicking and taking down rebel uprisings had a way of buggering up a schedule – when Casey stopped to consider that people could still surprise him from time to time.

 

But Holy Christ– Chuck’s dad just told him he would trust him.

 

“Good,” Casey replied coolly. “The information I need… do you have access to the state of Virginia’s DMV data?”

 

There was no mulling it over. “Humph. Child’s play. I was hoping for something more challenging,” Orion replied, the sound of key strokes in the background. “What do you need?”

 

“Identification of a vehicle. There may not be any records until six months ago.”

 

“Got a name?”

 

Casey tugged on a stray thread along the seam of his jeans and told him what he was looking for.

 

“Give me a minute.” Stephen Bartowski came back in less than that. “Do you have a pencil? You’ll need to write this down.”

 

When he hung up, he looked down at the memo pad under the block print Red River Inn and traced a thumb over his notation.

 

Well, if Chuck could have his list, Casey would have one as well. Just a different kind of list. And today he would cross off item number one.

 

-x-

 

Chuck awoke with a start. How long had he been out this time? One eye popped open, and he focused on a blur of blonde across the room.

 

“S-Sarah?” His voice was rough with sleep. “How long have I…?” but the kid stopped to swallow. His tongue felt thick, like it was glued to the inside of this mouth. “Where’s Casey…?”

 

“He said he was going… out. Remember?”

 

“Mmm… but where?” Chuck looked around the room warily, shedding some of his weariness. He lifted his head, scratching his stubbly cheek. “Did he happen to mention?”

 

Sarah didn’t even bother to look up at him, intent on opening a container and peering inside. “It’s Casey. You should know better than anyone that he’ll be fine.”

 

“Well, point, but still.” Why in the hell would Casey think that this was a good idea? Leaving him alone with his run-off-in-the-night-with-no-forwarding-address-fake-girlfriend? God, Casey.

 

She opened another Styrofoam container, acting oblivious to the creaky grating noise. “Did I wake you up?”

 

“No, no, you’re fine really. I was just… waking up anyway.” He was quite proud of himself that there was no trace of irony in his voice.

 

“You’re still a terrible liar,” she said, half-cringing when she opened another foam take-out container. “Sorry. But if it’s any consolation, you still look adorable when you’re sleeping.” Her eyes trailed over him with an amused gleam. “And your hair still does that … crazy thing when you wake up. You know, the –” Sarah made a motion with her hand that Chuck would have found unflattering if he thought about it. But at the moment, he was too busy smoothing his hair down with his fingers.

 

“And you’re still an evil woman for disrespecting the ‘do'.” The sleepy grin softened the sentiment. Chuck pushed himself up on his elbows and fanned out his toes, stretching every muscle in his legs. The whiff of baked bread mingled with a pungent tang of spices reminded him of something. Damn, he was starving.

 

“Hungry?” Sarah asked.

 

“I always appreciated your telekinetic abilities. It was like having my own Vulcan for a spy protector.”

 

As he hoped, the corner of her mouth tugged up, but she paired it with the obligatory eye roll for his show of nerdiness. But, okay – this was working. Chuck Bartowski could engage in witty banter with his ex-spy- girlfriend without the messy hidden emotions burbling up.

 

“The selection in town isn’t very exciting,” she said, opening another one of the containers and pushing a stray pickle back in the box. “I refused to get fast food – not with your stomach still recovering –”

 

“So, I take it, there’s no In-and-Out Burger in that bag?”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “In all my time in Burbank, I never understood the fascination with that place,” she said, tearing the paper off a straw. “I know, I know, it’s the shrine of all things slathered in ketchup and grease.”

 

“For shame, Sarah Walker.” Chuck deliberately gave her mock-appalled look. “I can’t believe you never caved in to the allure of the mighty Double-Double the entire time you were in California. Maybe you should’ve stayed, and eventually – oh.” Big Mouth. In less than five minutes flat, no less. Chuck slapped his hand over his lips, though it did nothing to stop the size thirteen foot which he had just shoved in there. Crap. “Oh, I didn’t mean… Sarah, I’m –”

 

He saw her tense, the first flicker of recognition that this wasn’t the easiest situation for her either. How could she not feel it? She had left with Bryce Freaking Larkin, for god sakes. And now she’s found out her stoic as stone ex-partner jumped in the sheets with their asset… after she left town. Oh, come on, even the great Sarah Walker had to be off balance.

 

“Shawarma okay, Chuck?” she asked, picking up one of the foam containers. “I thought you might like chicken.”

 

Okay, there was a chance she wasn’t as affected by the whole fleeing Burbank episode. But chicken? Well, of course she would serve him up the perfect metaphor, but somehow he managed to keep his mouth closed this time.

 

“That’s, uh, perfect actually.”

 

“Reminded me of the pita place Morgan liked.” Sarah was disturbingly calm while she opened a tiny plastic cup and took a whiff. “Oh. Garlic sauce.”

 

“Funny how they never give you enough of that, do they?” Chuck sat up, realizing that he was probably being a little rude if he expected Sarah to serve him his lunch in bed. “Can I help you with the food?” Not waiting, he swung his leg out and started to toss off the blanket, climbing to his feet.

 

Oh, God.

 

“Gah! Sarah! Where are my –”

 

“Clothes?” Sarah shrugged, reaching across the table so that she had her back to him. “Maybe Casey forgot to tell you that you were naked when you passed out?”

 

Dammit, she was snickering into her strawberry smoothie! “N-naked?”

 

“You might want to get back in bed, hmm?”

 

Wasted words. Blankets and pillows were already moving in a million directions at once. “Did anyone think of getting me some pants?” Chuck asked, fluffing the blanket over his legs with a little too much gusto. “Or at least a pair of boxers?”

 

“Well,” Sarah replied, assuming it was safe to turn in his direction again. “That would’ve made it difficult to check for the injections –”

 

“The injections? You mean…? Oh… oh, no.” Chuck flopped backwards on the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please tell me you didn’t –”

 

“Relax.” Sarah flashed him a grin and lifted her drink to her lips. “It was just the three of us.”

 

“The three – David, too?”

 

“Don’t worry about the doctor.” She took another slurp, grinning around the straw. “He told us he saw it before.”

 

Chuck’s mouth fell open. “Really. Is there anyone who hasn’t seen it by now? Sheesh.” He gave her one more uneasy look and smoothed the cover over his knees. “Maybe you guys should have greeting cards made up. You know, to get it more visibility out there,” he grumbled.

 

Sarah shrugged off the sarcasm, plunging one of the straws into a lid. “Ready for this?” she asked, nodding at a container.

 

“You’ll have to bring it to me, if you don’t mind,” he replied, looking wounded. “What with the whole naked thing and all. Would you, uh, mind bringing me a pair of Casey’s boxers, too?”

 

“Is fatoush on the side okay? And I thought you might like some of the baba ganoush. The pita bread is still warm.”

 

The blonde slinked out of her seat, balancing the boxes and a fruit drink, and carefully passed it over to him. Oddly, the boxers were still MIA. “Can your stomach handle this?”

 

“Seriously? Even the Styrofoam is looking tasty by now.”

 

“Good. Casey was worried you that you looked skinny.”

 

Oh, right there; she lifted just one brow in an arch and gave him that look. First the comment about leaving, and now Casey? He could handle this, though. He had long given up choking on his misery.

 

“Chuck, would you –”

 

Oh, hell, here we go.

 

“Sarah… listen, we should –” Chuck tore off a piece of the pita bread but instead of stuffing it in his mouth, he fidgeted with it. “Well, I need to tell you –”

 

“Chuck, I –”

 

“No Sarah, hear me out, okay?” The kid held up his hand to wave her off, then noticed he was waving the flatbread in the air. Embarrassed, he tossed it inside the take-out box and brushed his hands. “We’re both thinking it, so, you know what? I’m just going to say it. I’m not mad at you anymore. There. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was pissed as hell at first when you left. Knowing you had run off with Bryce, after the Von Hays incident at the train station? Well, I cried in my pillow every night for a month. Wondering if you would try to contact me, send me a text… or hell, even comment on my Facebook status, for crying out loud. But nothing. All that time.”

 

“Chuck, you don’t have to –”

 

“No, really, Sarah, this is cathartic. It is. Well, I got over it, okay? Not that I want it to sound mean, or anything like that, but I did. I moved on with my life, and I’m okay now. In a good place,” he said. “In fact, I’m in a freaking great place right now, so –” Chuck took a bite and chewed slowly, fiddling with the fork and a slice of tomato. “What I’m saying is that there’s no reason for anything to be… uncomfortable between us. I’m not asking for an apology. You saved my life a dozen times, and that’s more than enough.”

 

Sarah stared at him, the food caught in her mouth mid-chew, but after a half minute, she swallowed. “I see.” Pushing her drink off to the side, he watched as a slow grin slid onto her face. “I was going to… um, did you want my pickle?”

 

Chuck gaped at the pickle she held up. “You’re impossible, you know that, right?” He was able to work up a smile as he brought his straw to his lips. “Just sayin’. You could’ve stopped me at any time after ‘hear me out.'”

 

“I don’t know about that. You seemed pretty determined that you wanted to clear the air,” she said, but the kid could sense her demeanor shifting. Becoming serious. “Chuck, it would’ve been my fault if that Fulcrum agent killed you at the train station. My fault. Well, I’ve lived with a lot of guilt, but that was one thing I would never be able to face. That’s why I left with Bryce.” Her eyes got that mischievous gleam one more time. “Besides, I wasn’t going to stop you mid-speech. You’re cute when you get worked up.”

 

“Cute. Just don’t say use that word in front of Casey. He’s already pissed.”

 

“Speaking of which…” Sarah curled her legs under her, resting her chin on her knee and pinned him with a look. “How were things in Burbank… after I left?”

 

“After you … left? Fine, just fine, actually.” Chuck purposely took a huge bite of shawarma, knowing it would keep his mouth busy for a while.

 

She waited, and one eyebrow rose on her forehead, disappearing behind a wisp of blonde hair.

 

“Well, I – I’m still at the Buy More, so there’s that.”

 

“Um-hmm.” Sounding more perturbed.

 

“And, the new web/OS tablet keeps things a little nutty.” Chuck ducked his side to side to emphasize the nuttiness. “Oh! I didn’t tell you… Ellie got married.”

 

“Wow, Chuck. That’s great. I’m so happy for Ellie. How was the wedding?”

 

You mean the part where he had found out at the worst possible moment that Casey went on a mission where he was ordered to seduce a man, followed by their biggest fight since they began this crazy ride, and ending with a blow job in the back of an NSA-issued Suburban? With the extra added bonus prize of being caught with their pants down – literally – by none other than Ellie?

 

“Good. Really good, actually. Casey said it was the best wedding cake he’s ever had. Mascarpone with raspberry fill –”

 

“– speaking of which…” Sarah picked up her drink and swirled it in her hand. “Tell me, Chuck … anything else?” She paused, narrowing her eyes. Apparently waiting.

 

“Hmm… what?”

 

“Mister Innocent, eating your chicken shawarma sandwich…?” Now sounding inordinately impatient.

 

In reply, Chuck munched happily, adding nothing to the conversation.

 

Well, that did it. Sarah Walker, CIA Mistress of the Dark, snapped. “God dammit, Chuck!” She crossed her arms and sat up straight in her chair. “Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re with Casey? How the hell did that happen? Not that I’m not happy for you, but… Casey? John Casey? The agency’s top burnout assassin? Major Pain in the Ass? God, Country, Duty, Corp, and you?”

 

Chuck took another bite of pita. “Is there more garlic sauce in that bag?”

 

In retrospect, why did he not know he was dead meat? The way her eyes shifted towards the door, the way she unceremoniously pushed the box of food out of the way to keep the path clear…

 

Yep, he should’ve known.

 

“I want to know… how it happened.”

 

“Uh, how what … now?” Playing dumb was a go-to move that had a relatively high success ratio in the field. Even Casey, who was getting pretty proficient at dialing in to it, still fell victim to the ploy from time to time.

 

But Sarah wasn’t buying it. The blonde gave him a look that, well, seriously? It sent his balls contracting up tight between his legs. “Charles Irving Bartowski,” she said evenly, too quietly. “I want to know.”

 

“How-how we … hooked up?” Chuck had to bring up his hand to hold back a cough. “Are you s-serious?”

 

She stopped to take a long swig off her drink, never letting her eyes leave his face. “I’m a CIA operative, Chuck,” she said, casting each word like a dart. “Do you know what that means?”

 

“You get to drive a cool car?” He mustered up a wheedling grin. “Uh, travel to exotic locals – and kill people – on the taxpayer’s dime?”

 

“It means I like to know … details,” she went on, twirling her straw between her fingers before suddenly squeezing the end. Ouch. The visual alone made him adjust the blankets between his knees. “To make matters more intriguing, you and Casey are my friends. So, yes, I’ll admit it. Honestly. I, Sarah Walker, want to know how John Casey seduced you.”

 

“S-seduced? I – uh…” Chuck didn’t move at first. Then, looking away, he took another bite of the pita sandwich, rolling it around on his tongue as he thought about the question. “Huh. You mean, how I … seduced him,” he finally mumbled around a mouthful of shawarma.

 

Wait, did I just say that out loud?

 

Sarah stopped chewing and gave him a stare that smoked a hole through him. “What did you say?”

 

Oh, crap.

 

“Uh, Sarah, is there more garlic sauce?” Chuck wondered, licking his thumb.

 

“Hold it right there, buster.” Sarah set down her sandwich and slowly wiped her mouth with the napkin. Tossing it to the side, she leaned over the table, and kept her gaze perfectly level on his face. “Did you just say –?”

 

“You know, garlic sauce…to put on the –”

 

But Sarah held up a hand. “That still doesn’t work with me,” she said before he could get rolling. “You seduced…?”

 

“Yes, you heard me right, okay? I seduced, so … um, garlic sauce?” Maybe she wouldn’t notice the panicked grin.

 

Like it was that easy. Crumpling a wrapper, she tilted her head and stared in a way that made Chuck flinch. Deliberately, her eyes traveled over his face, skimming over his bare chest – he pulled the covers up awkwardly right about then – and down the bedspread to his feet.

 

“Am I making you nervous, Chuck,” Sarah said, licking her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Because, I know being naked makes you a little uncomfortable, hmm? Feeling a little exposed?”

 

Oh, no. Not good. Sarah Walker was definitely brewing a batch of wicked ideas.

 

“No, no, that’s not it. I was just –”

 

“And maybe you’re looking for these.” Without even glancing down, she fished something out of one of the plastic shopping bags. “Casey knows your size, right?” Sarah held up a pair of dark washed denim jeans and crisp new boxer shorts.

 

Chuck blinked at the garments being held out so enticingly. “Well, yes, you could say that. Casey knows my size.”

 

“Kind of what I meant.” Sarah cleared her throat, not even attempting to hide the impish smile. “So, I could hand over your boxers – nice, Casey picked out a soft flannel pair – or, I can pull a Houdini, Chuck, and take the blanket you’re clinging onto so tightly.”

 

Chuck’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

 

“Wouldn’t I, now?” Dipping a pita corner, she pointed a know-it-all smirk in his direction. “How would you stop me? Think about it: I could incapacitate you four different ways from here using just this bendy straw.”

 

Chuck forced a laugh, and tried not to freak out. “What – what do want from me?” he managed, before making a lurch for his drink – and promptly knocking it over, sloshing guava smoothie everywhere.

 

“Well, I was going to tell you to spill, but not quite like that,” Sarah chuckled, tossing him a wad of napkins. “You know what I want. The details. You. And Casey.”

 

“You know… that’s rather uh, personal…” Where the hell is Casey?! He knew this was going to happen!

 

Getting up from her seat, she sauntered to the bed, hips swaying in that way that caused most men to forget their names. Nerdy bisexual boys taught by their big sisters to be polite, not so much. But still. “Chuck?” She touched his arm.

 

“Y-yeah?”

 

“Here’s the deal… I’m going to let you skip the parts that make you blush a little too much,” she promised with a smile, casually twirling the green and white plaid boxers from the tip of her finger. “But you’re going to tell me the rest.”

 

“Everything?” He blushed harder.

 

“You do know… ” and bending down close, Sarah placed a warm palm on the side of his face, “Casey is going to be gone… for hours.”

 

“H-hours… you say?”

 

“That’s right, Chuck.” The boxers made one lazy loop in the air over his head, barely out of his reach. “Just you … and me.”

 

His skin prickled.

 

Uh-oh.

 

Casey was going to kill him.

 

-x-End Chapter Five Part One-x-


	6. Chapter Five (Part Two)

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Five Part Two)

-x-

“Seduced?” Sarah’s eyes roved over him. “No offense here, Chuck, but you expect me to believe that you … seduced the unconquerable John Casey?”  


“Is it so impossible?” Admittedly, from her vantage point, hell yes was the only remotely plausible answer here. 

“I still don’t believe you.”

“And I think you’re acting surprised in order to make me want to tell you,” he challenged, smiling around his straw as he took a drink. Yes, Chuck was aware that he could be gullible at times, but she would have to do much better than that. “All part of your training – an initial method to get information. Am I right?”

“Huh. Observant.” Sarah narrowed her eyes at him, momentarily forgetting the green plaid boxers in her grip. “I’ve been wondering if you picked up a few tricks from the master. Being so close to him and all. Well, apparently, you have.”

“Uh, thanks?” Chuck silently congratulated himself for catching on to her ploy, but it was cut short when Sarah leaned over him and deliberately fisted a handful of the rumpled blanket. 

“You like this nice cover, hmm?” Her face mirrored his own stubbornness, though hers was augmented with the knowledge that she had knives strapped to her ankle to back it up.

Oh, crap.

“Sarah?” He blinked up at her and reflexively pulled the blanket up to his chest. “I’m getting a little – well, when you get that funny wrinkle between your –”

“So, Chuck…” She lowered her head until he could see nothing but light blue eyes full of trouble. “Since I can’t employ the more customary means to extract the Intel,” she drawled carefully, “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to resort to unconventional methods.”

“Sarah, you are such a kidder.” His laugh sounded manic even to him. “M-methods? Like what … now?”

“There’s an analogy. I’m sure you’ve heard it before. The carrot or the stick,” she said. “Well, Chuck, Here’s the carrot.” Sarah waved the only garment saving him from complete humiliation. 

“Give me those –” Damn. There were times when long arms came in handy, but Chuck was too slow with the lunge again, and she smiled as she stuffed the boxers behind her back. 

“Ah-ah. Now, do you see where my other hand is?”

“You’re going to tell me it’s the one clutching the blanket, aren’t you?” he replied, attempting to yank it up further over his bare chest. It didn’t budge.

“That’s right.” She brought her hand up to brush through his hair, ever so lightly. Eyes lit up in a playful spark. “This hand. So, what’s your decision?”

“You know… do you think we should call Casey? Just to check in with him and see if –”

“Your stall techniques won’t work with me, Mister Bartowski, so don’t even think about it.” With a smile he couldn’t quite trust, Sarah let her hand drop casually to his knee. “This is the drill,” she said coolly, and she tugged one time – hard. “I’ll give you ten seconds to –”

“Ten seconds? This is a little extreme, don’t you think?” 

“Eight.”

“Shouldn’t we be concentrating on the m-mission?” he stammered. 

“I am. Five seconds.” Another tug of warning.

“Sarah, I really –”

“Four.”

“I c-can’t believe you’re doing this –”

“No? I’m a spy,” she told him. “But right now, you should be more worried that I’m a woman, Chuck – three.”

“Casey’s going to get really mad if he finds out –” At the mention of his burly boyfriend, Chuck’s fingers tightened for the briefest of moments, knowing the blanket was poised to leave his body in about –

“Two seconds – and why would he find out?” She squeezed his knee, laughing softly. “Do you plan on telling him you seduced him?”

“I’m rather fond of my limbs where they are. Sarah, please.”

“I’ve seen you two together, Chuck,” she said with a tug that sent the blanket down to his hips. “Casey would never hurt you. And, this is it –”

“Oh, crap.”

“One.”

“Stop! Uncle! Whatever spy-word there is for cease and desist!” Chuck threw his hands up in surrender and buried his head in the pillow. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” 

Oh, God. The words were out of his mouth. The Great Sarah Walker would never let him off the hook now. 

To confirm that god-awful truth, Chuck finally worked up the courage to lift his head from the pillow. His bleary eyes focused on the grinning blonde standing over him, hands on her hips. Now what? Turning his head, he forced a few coughs, hoping to work up some sympathy.

No dice. Instead, she stared down at him with a toothy grin. “You’re not that sick, so the act won’t work with me either.” Finally letting go of the blanket, Sarah swept a curl off his forehead and slung the boxers on the chair, still out of his reach. “You’re still sweet,” she chuckled. “I like that about you, Chuck.” 

“Screw you, Ms. Walker.” But no matter how hard he fought it, he still had no control when she smiled, and he was forced to give her a lopsided grin of his own. “It’s not my fault that your methods of persuasion,” and Chuck assumed a dodgy Parisian accent, “are too much for a mere asset like moi.”

Sarah rolled her eyes at the butchered French, and snapped off a retort en francais perfectly. “Rien n'est simple avec toi.”

“Ha. That too.” Chuck lost the accent and the smile. “Were you really going to take the blanket?”

“Affirmative. Let’s get started, shall we?” She moseyed back to the table and slid into her chair. “When did you realize that you even wanted to – boy, it sounds funny saying it – seduce Casey.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said seduce. Seduce is such a … strong word, isn’t it, fraught with innuendo –”

“Fraught? Um, I still have the boxers, Chuck.”

“Geez, okay.” Chuck eyed his shorts and decided to buy some time by taking a loud slurp off the frozen drink. “But one more thing,” he said, fiddling with the straw. “Casey doesn’t kick my ass anymore, not like he used to… but Sarah, you cannot tell him that I told you anything. He’ll be pissed. More than his baseline.”

“But that takes all of the fun out of it.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m not bending on this point, your spy-ness. He has… other ways to let me know he’s angry.”

“Oh, really?”

“And frankly, I don’t like any of them.”

“Well, we can’t let that happen.” Sarah cleared her throat dramatically. “Agreed. So … back to my question. When did you even know…?”

“I don’t believe this,” he mumbled. Scraping up a dollop of baba ganoush on a pita, Chuck stuffed the piece in his mouth, chewing slowly. How could he put words around one of the scariest moments of his life? Scarier than the time a crazy Icelandic spy almost harpooned him, more frightening than getting tossed in the trunk of a car, and about the same feeling as nearly being flung from the window of a hotel room. 

Well, here goes. “You’ll laugh. I should’ve made that another rule – no laughing.”

“Too late. Well?”

Chuck pushed his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. “The shooting range.”

Sarah wasted no time grabbing a napkin so that she could stop her cough – or, wait a minute. God, she was laughing already. “No…. Did you say the shooting range? What the hell, Chuck. You hate guns… how in the world…?”

“Laugh it up, fuzz ball.” Chuck threw a tissue on the side table and wrinkled his nose at her. A ruddy blush was already sending his fever up another degree or two. “You know what, this isn’t working. I’m going to give you the blanket, how’s that?”

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t…” But she conveniently stopped to snort into her hand. “I know. It’s just that I can’t believe, well, first that you let him take you to the range, and second that –”

Oh, just say it – that he realized he had the hots for John Casey while holding a registered firearm.

God, could this get more screwed up?

“Thank you for not laughing.” Chuck flopped his head back on the pillow and rubbed his eyes. “Not going on until you stop.”

“Fair enough.” She took a long drink to wash down her amusement. “Did he have to drag you there kicking and screaming?” 

“Not exactly. I’ve learned to pick my battles with my – uh, the major. Well,” he said, drawing out a breath, “after you left, Casey decided that since he was my lone handler, I needed to learn how to defend myself, and I quote, ‘while not shooting my dick off in the process.’ Unquote.”

“Good thing, considering how the situation turned out,” Sarah added to herself.

“Ha. Humor. Warn a guy, will ya?” Chuck grumbled, reddening as he picked up his fork. “He told me that I needed to know how to shoot a gun, but under no circumstances, and ‘under threat of feeding me my balls on a spoon would I be allowed to actually fire said gun.’”

“Sounds like the man I remember.” Sarah curled a leg under her and sat back in the seat, keeping her gaze on his face. “Then what?”

“Well, in the middle of all of that, standing there with the safety goggles over my eyes, and the silly ear muff things, staring at the paper target, I … realized something.”

“What was that?”

“It wasn’t that Casey was there to protect me.” Chuck picked at his salad so he didn’t have to make eye contact. “Even though he was. But, really? He was teaching me how I could protect myself. That he trusted me. Hell, that he was even capable of trust.”

Sarah made no reply, turning to her plate to saw away at the pita roll. After a few tries, she reached into her pant leg and replaced the plastic knife with one of her throwing knives. 

“Better. Hate those flimsy things, don’t you?” She held up another blade for him.

“Uh, I’m good. But thanks.”

“Okay, I get the revelation, but … somehow that led to…? I mean there’s a leap in there – from trusting someone to realizing –”

“Well, for starters … he’s a handsome man. Am I right?”

“That’s a given.” Sarah looked up from her lunch to give him a half-smile. “He was my partner, but yes, one does notice these things. You are adorable, too,” she added for his benefit.

The kid rolled his eyes. No matter what Sarah Walker claimed, he always had a hard time accepting his own gawky looks; long limbs, mussy hair, and a face that rippled with unharnessed emotion had not exactly worked as a magnet for attracting either gender. “Can we agree on unconventional, yet with boyish charm?”

“Deal,” she nodded. “And we both agreed a certain agent was handsome. But there has to be more to it than that.”

Chuck furrowed his brows. How could he explain it without seeming like a complete idiot? When he set his fork down and looked at her, the idea hit him. “Sarah, let me ask you something.” He paused, feeling his heart jolt and pick up speed. “When you first joined the CIA, did you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Well, no.” She angled her head to peer at him, slowly stirring her drink. “It’s not a skill many eighteen-year-olds have, especially with my… let’s just say, my father was more into the con job, and if there ever was a need for a weapon, that was probably his cue to get out of town. Why?”

“Then… I’m sure the CIA put you through some type of training. Assigned an instructor to work with you?”

“Of course,” she admitted. “Weapons handling is one of the first courses they put us through. For any new recruit in the CST program, anyway.” 

“So, what do you remember about that training?” Chuck straightened the blanket over his knees uneasily. “When your weapon’s instructor was, you know, helping you.”

“Well, he showed me how to stand,” Sarah replied, considering the question while she twirled her straw. “Worked on the placement of my feet and hips, my arms… and how to hold the gun, of course… but I don’t see what this has to do with …. oh. Oh.” One brow disappeared under a blonde lock. “Soooo, you liked it when Casey…?”

Chuck felt the blush creeping up his neck again. “Alright, that’s it. We should’ve made rules about the boundaries… but yes, I … liked it.”

“Oh. I see…”

The kid tried to hide his crimson face behind a forkful, but the memory flooded him, ruthlessly kicking a hole through the gate and driving itself in. 

Because it was at that laser-edged moment, inside the Montebello Training Academy, lane four at seven p.m. on a Thursday, when Chuck Bartowski knew he had the sweats for a mile-wide chest and hands large enough to break him like a twig. 

That wasn’t it, though. These were powerful hands, intent on teaching him to save himself.

-x-

“Hold still, will ya? Jesus, Bartowski, it’s like you’ve got a fucking squirrel in your pants.”

“Ow! I would’ve moved over a little if you asked – wait a minute, what are you doing?” Chuck lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Casey, your hands are on my –” His hips. Hands as big as catcher’s mitts were clamped around his hips….

“I said hold still so I can steer you.” Casey blew out an exasperated sigh, and at the same time, rough fingertips dug into his hipbones. Yanking him in close. Very close. 

“Are you sure they need to be like that? It’s feels a little odd to have –”

“Right there.” Using his unyielding grip, Casey pivoted Chuck towards the paper silhouette, twenty yards down. The agent seemed appeased at last and loosened his fingers. “Don’t fucking move,” he warned. 

How could he move? Chuck’s head was spinning with instructions, his heart jack hammering with fear, maybe anticipation at the thought of looking down the other end of a muzzle for once …

… and what was that? 

It took a second to recognize the feel; hot breath grazing over his collar as Casey lined him up. Reflexively, Chuck rolled his shoulders back. The grip curled, thumb sliding down his wrist. Restraint kept him inches away… Casey was so close… the pistol and the stifling air and the voice growling into his ear – 

“Shoulder width apart.” The order was emphasized by thrusting a beefy thigh between Chuck’s legs from behind. “Like that, kid.”

“Gah! Watch the leg. It’s pressing right against my –”

“And keep the foot that is opposite your dominant hand –”

“What?”

“Christ. You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Then, put this leg –”

“Geez! Again with the hands. Can you try not to –”

“Now I know your shoulders are as wide as girl’s, but when I say, shoulder width apart I mean this –” Chuck flinched at the two hard toe taps on his inner heels. “Spread ‘em, dammit. Stand there like you mean it. Like you want to blow the shit out of something.” 

Blow the…? Chuck jolted, getting ready to argue – after all, it seemed his manhood was being questioned, but Casey cut him off when he repeated the side to side to motion with his feet. Tap Tap. Clearly a move that said arguments, no; compliance, damn straight.

Just when he thought the manhandling might be rolling to a stop, out of nowhere, arms as bulky as Chuck’s upper thighs snaked around him on both sides and latched onto his hands. He nearly dropped the Browning Buckman on the spot. 

“Gah!” Chuck jerked backwards, and plowed straight into an unmovable wall of hard mass. “What are you doing now?” 

“What part of hold still are you not getting? Finally got your legs in the right place – and god dammit don’t even think of moving ‘em – and now I have to get your stick arms in the right position. So, hold still.” Casey shuffled forward from behind –

– and holy hell. Chuck’s shoulders were forced back into the dangerous, graceful arch between Casey’s arms, tightly wedged into his chest… 

… focus on the gun… focus on the gun…

… but his attention lingered on the clean lines of his forearms; the way the muscles bunched and rolled, binding like rope around his body. Bare hands on his bare skin. A flush crept over him – fevered, ruddy – and Chuck responded by filling his lungs to clear his vision. But breathing in deeply had the opposite effect – the kid caught a whiff of Casey’s scent, and the smell of sweat, spice, and worn leather filled his head.

His mouth went dry. With nowhere else to look, he had to zero in on Casey’s arms wrapped around him. Oh, God this actually feels … a little bit… nice. Warm. 

Warm? What was wrong with him? Why was he even thinking about –

“Are you listening, Bartowski?” 

“You m-might need to repeat that last part?”

“Keep it straight and stiff.” A huge hand clamped down on his elbow and dug into the soft flesh at the crook. “Remember to keep your support arm a little looser than that.”

The grip was rough, but not to hurt. To teach. Casey’s smoothly muscled upper body crowded into him, every part of the man invading Chuck’s senses, holding him up with a controlled tension. Being almost the same height and with bodies pressed close, the contact points traveled between them like a burst of heat. Flesh on either side had him trapped. Shoulders, to ribcage, to thighs …to ….

Oh.

Casey‘s package was pressed into him. 

It was right there, for god sakes, nudging his left butt cheek. Chuck tried to shift his hips, change up his stance, but Casey was having none of it. He contracted his arms in a disciplined thrust to keep the kid where he was. 

“What are you –?” Chuck turned his head to the side in annoyance, ready to bark at him for the rough treatment.

He got a whiff of vanilla shampoo instead.

“Stay. Now what are you aiming for?”

“Uh… what now?”

Casey rolled his eyes, not budging an inch. “Bartowski. The protective ear muffs are there for a reason, but if you can’t hear a damn thing I say –”

“I’m – ah – just a little… can you give me the rule again?”

“Fuck. I need you to aim for center mass,” Casey instructed. No, no, no… don’t think about the slope of his chest, hair damp with sweat on his forehead. “And gradually squeeze down on the trigger. Don’t jerk it around.”

Casey was really warm. No, hot. His skin was humid, glistening under the overhead lights, heated from the smoke and dust flumes that floated on the air. He wasn’t sure how he felt, being squeezed like this, knowing that the amount of power in Casey’s hand alone could bend Chuck backwards and sideways. 

But Casey was holding him rock-steady… intent on keeping him safe. 

About that time, Chuck gave up trying to make sense of the quiver across the back of his neck. He inhaled and let it out, clawing for composure, but his heart flipped and then flopped. Something wedged under his skin in a place he really didn’t want to think about right now.

“Keep the pressure constant –”

For a reason he couldn’t fathom, Chuck was leaning back into it, falling into it. The hard chest and staunch curves where his shoulders seemed to fit perfectly. 

“After the first shot, don’t let the recoil distract you, got it? You keep your damn hands as high on the gun as possible. Locked down, but keep it slack.” 

Logically, that made no sense, but neither did this: Chuck felt a very pleasant coil in his lower belly, and the tickle crawled lower still. Don’t think about a hard on …don’t think about a hard on….oh, shit.

Chuck shivered. 

“Good.” Casey nudged his back. “Exhale before you shoot. Do it just like that.”

“… oh my God…” 

“Hell, yeah,” the agent growled in his ear. “It’s a rush, eh?”

A rush wasn’t the word he was grappling with. Chuck was dazed. He liked this? When did that happen? He liked broad arms? A small patch of chest hair at the open collar of the black polo? T-shirts clinging to solid flesh, the roughness of Casey’s hands cupping his fist ….

“Suck in air like that right before you shoot and you’ll blow your pecker off, Bartowski.”

“I – okay, then.” Coherence left him in a clumsy lurch, but how could he think with the rigid veneer behind him, tugged to his body and molding him seamlessly to Casey’s. 

Well, that settled it. Today was unquestionably the weirdest day of his life. Beating out even the moment this nifty new toy called the Intersect was crammed into his head. 

On top of it, Ellie knew! She had to have known all along. All those times he had wondered what she meant when she stood at the train station, sending him off to school. Telling him to keep his eyes open and be true to himself. How would a seventeen-year old-know what she meant by that, for crying out loud? Why didn’t she come out and say it?! “Chuck, remember the puppy crush you had on Mister Brooks in eighth grade biology?” And later she could’ve added this nugget: “Do you remember when Bryce Larkin invited you to gymnastics meets – and you went because you actually wanted to watch him on the pommel horse –”

Oh, my God. I’m… holy hell… I’m bisexual? Did I just think that? 

And on the off-chance his life wasn’t already complicated by a factor of eight gazillion, he liked John Casey.

Another flush crept up his neck, blistering and hot, made the fine hairs on his arm stand up. The moment crystallized in intensity. The final effect was a brilliant starkness that placed the pieces together. It was hard to run from the truth when it attacked him from behind. Assailing his nostrils with perspiration and musk, making his skin drenched with heat.

He liked John Casey.

Hell, he wanted John Casey.

That was it. 

Inside the Montebello firing range at eight fifteen on a Thursday night, surrounded by a vaporous haze of powder that smelled exactly like Fourth of July firecrackers, Chuck knew.

To this day, the scent of vanilla shampoo combined with the burn of cordite still gave him a hard on. 

-x-

“So, after the shooting range incident?”

“Hmm?”

She set down her knife and folded her arms over her chest.

“Oh… well, of course, I freaked out in awkward silence for a week or two.”

“Naturally.”

“But then….” Chuck took a bite to fill some time. “I decided to do something about it. That if I wanted something, I would have to … take it.”

“Oh?” Sarah tilted her head at him in surprise. “Well, look who came to the party. Huh.”

“What does that look mean?”

“You’ve changed,” she replied. “All the time I was in Burbank, I did everything to keep you the way you were – and mostly, you are that guy. But Casey isn’t the only one who changed. He’s been good for you.” Sarah regarded him thoughtfully, and her mouth quirked up at the corner. “God, you’re in deep.”

“What can I say?” Chuck waggled his eyebrows. “He begged me. I had a weak moment.”

Sarah still had a great laugh. “Liar, and before you go on, I can see right through you.” Tearing off a piece of pita, she used it to sop up something on her plate. “So, Chuck Bartowski, what exactly did you take?”

Chuck smiled innocently around a bite of food, munching contently before wiping his face with a napkin. “This is really good. We should stop there for some take-out when we’re making our getaway later.”

“Chuck,” she said. “I need you to get to the damn seduction. Or I will strip that blanket off, buster.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh.” Without thinking, he tugged at the blanket and brought it higher on his chest. “If you want to know… no, really there’s nothing….”

Sarah stared, not giving him an inch to squirm away. 

All the blood drained from his face, and he avoided her look by flattening out the blanket. “It was simple, really,” he finally said. “I kissed him.”

-x-

Chuck thanked his lucky stars that Sarah’s cell phone rang the moment he uttered kiss. Instantly, her face shifted to a solemn look as she snatched the phone off the dresser and glanced at the display. “I have to take this,” she said, and with one last pointed look, Sarah swiped his clothes from the table and tucked them under her arm.

“I hate you,” he mouthed to her smiling face. In reply, she rolled her eyes and pulled the door closed behind her.

Chuck figured that the odds of her forgetting this conversation were somewhere around the same as Pluto being reinstated as an official planet. He consoled himself with the plate of food while he hunted around the bed for the remote control, but the clack of the door made him jump. 

Oh, no. Sarah’s smug smile beamed at him from the doorway, and tossing his clothes back on the tabletop, the blonde settled into her seat again. “You were telling me that you kissed … John Casey.”

Chuck attempted virtue in his tone. “Uh, yep.”

“Really.” Sarah squinted at him. “Where?

“Well, we were sitting at the conference table in Ca –”

“Not that, Chuck,” she cut in. “I mean, where.”

Chuck finished swallowing a bite and leaned back on his pillow. “That’s a little – uh…”

But Sarah gave him a no-nonsense look, one that said there was no getting out of this.

The kid huffed in resignation. “On the lips, of course.”

“On the …?” Sarah tilted forward in her chair. “Without any advance notice or –?”

Chuck shrugged, trying to act casual; as if it was every day you jumped off a cliff. “Funny. That look was pretty much his reaction as well.”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “You were sitting in Castle –?”

“Well, yes, that seemed like the only place where others wouldn’t be around.”

“Wow. You genuinely planned it.” She took a drink as she eyed him. “So, Castle. How did all of this lead to a kiss?”

Chuck kept his expression neutral, though inwardly his stomach was twisting at the memory of his nerves that night. “Well, the usual routine. Our favorite red-headed diminutive taskmaster had given us a mission.” 

“Remember, she could have you bunkered again.”

“No thanks. I don’t think I’ll be cashing in points for another stay at Hotel Beckman.” Chuck shook his head and dropped his fork in disgust. “Anyway, it was after we had spent the entire evening at the Casa Del Mar. At a reception.”

“Both of you in black tie.” Sarah hummed low and took another sip of her drink. “Ritzy.”

“Well, that and the crab puffs were the only triumph during this particular soiree. Oh, and to add to the fun, it was a veritable snake pit of schmoozing and chatter. Hell, I think a democratic senator cornered Casey to solicit a donation. Something about saving the Sequoias.”

“Oh… my… God. ” Sarah bit down on her lip to stop the peel of laughter. “So, in other words, Casey was ready to punch his fist through the punchbowl after the first hour?”

“You know how his eye gets that twitch?”

“That bad?” 

“Oh, it gets better. You probably figured out that we weren’t there to stop tasty seafood from infiltrating the market. Beckman planted us there to see if I would flash on a ‘person of interest’. The only image of the mark was in here,” he said, tapping his temple. “Soooo, drag the Intersect along, and see if it does the song and dance.” Chuck frowned at the memory and crumpled a napkin in his fingers. “Well, the bottom line is, I didn’t flash. After all of the elbow rubbing and air kisses, the night was a complete bust.” 

“Then I don’t get it,” Sarah said, shaking her head as a strand fell over her eyes. “Casey would be pissed, so why would you pick –”

“He would be… off his game a bit, yes.” Popping an olive in his mouth, Chuck mustered up a crooked smile.

“Huh.” The blonde chewed on the end of her straw, considering that. “It was still a big risk, you know.”

“I know, I know.” The smile faded. He took a deep breath. “Well, when we made it back to Castle, Casey wanted to review the security footage, incase ‘the moron’ missed anything.” Chuck stopped and raised his eyes. “Oh, and I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“What he meant when he called me names.”

Maybe his ears deceived him, but Chuck swore he heard Sarah Walker actually giggle. “Then what?”

“We were sitting at one of the workstations. Close – and… I just closed my eyes, pointed my lips in the vicinity of his, and leaned in for a kiss. There. That was it.” Chuck looked down at his plate. “Was there more fatou –”

“Nuh-uh.” Sarah’s resolute expression told him that was far from it. “What did he do?”

“Uh, nothing?” Ouch. The kid still felt a small stab at the recollection. No-thing was the absolute pitiful truth. Okay, he would give Casey the benefit of the doubt. He probably wasn’t expecting his asset to look away from the monitor, close the distance between them. Not expecting a pair of lips to be pressed tentatively to his out of nowhere. 

Instead, it was mortifying. Casey’s mouth had fallen open. Eyes wide and blazing as if a fire roared behind them; his hands balled up and tensed for a fistfight. One of the scariest bright light moments of Chuck’s existence, like a zing of fifty thousand volts.

“He could’ve killed you.”

“Point, but I’m still the Intersect, remember?” Chuck made a pained expression, patting his head again. “Can’t kill the governments favorite plaything, can we now?”

“What were you thinking?” Sarah snapped up straight in the chair, and pinched the bridge of her nose for a second or two. “You’re right, he couldn’t have killed you, but the rest of you was up for grabs! You’re lucky he didn’t sever you at the knees, or slice out your toenails with a Swiss army knife. You don’t need those to be the Intersect, Chuck!”

The kid felt a shudder cross his back. So maybe he hadn’t thought it through that far. “It was a chance I took, I guess.” Then, he smiled at her and flicked a mint leaf off his fork. “To be fair, though, it did turn out fine,” he said, waggling his toes under the blanket.

“Alright, so you still have your appendages.” Sarah gestured with her knife before setting it down. “But he had to do something eventually. After you kissed him. The world didn’t come to a standstill. So?”

“Uh, it wasn’t … well, he kind of ….” Chuck shifted his gaze as the ragged but somehow tender moment washed over him again. Icy silence… tendons along his arms swollen like cords of rope. An expression that could only mean violence. “He locked himself in the dojo and beat the crap out of the training dummy.”

“He did what? Wait, how do you know that?”

“I watched him on the Castle surveillance monitors,” Chuck replied, shrugging. “Let me tell you, the man has a vicious right hook.”

“If he knew you were spying on him, he would’ve –”

“Killed me again? Yeah, I know.” Rubbing his hand over his stubble, the kid briefly quirked a small grin at her before reaching to the side table for his drink. “But he didn’t now, did he?” 

“Thank God for the limits of violence against the Intersect. So, after he beat the dummy into submission?”

“We went home.” 

“We?”

“Oh, God, nothing like that,” Chuck shot back. “It was the usual. An utterly uncomfortable ride home in the Vic and a grunt at the fountain.” When she raised a brow, the kid looked away and rolled his eyes at her. “Of course I went back to Ellie’s. Sheesh, Sarah.”

“The next day?”

“Uh, the usual. Intersect-Buy More-Crazy Spy Life. Saving the world during my lunch break.”

“You didn’t say anything?” Sarah’s lips parted slightly, stopping mid-chew. “Not even…?”

“Nope.” Chuck put on his best guiltless smile. “I was a good little asset. Followed orders. Went on missions. Never said a word about it.”

“But, stop right there.” She flipped the knife in the air and stabbed the tip into the table. 

Chuck flinched. “Yes?”

“Something must’ve happened. I mean, you’re together. You do remember our agreement?” Sarah flicked a look to his clothes. “Still want those pants, right?” 

“Okay, okay. No need for threats, Agent Walker,” he said quickly. “Something did happen, um, eventually.” Chuck squeezed his eyes closed so he could avoid her face when he said it. “About a week later, I … oh, God.”

“Listening.”

“Well,” he said. “I … kissed him again.”

Sarah almost dropped the knife. “Uh, where?”

“On the lips?” 

“No!” After a few seconds, easy laughter rolled out of her. “I mean, where did it happen?”

Chuck looked away and took another bite, furtively glancing at the night table to see if Casey had the foresight to leave him a cell phone. Because at this juncture? A quick call to his boyfriend to tell him to get his ass back here was in order. Searching, his eyes landed on a few pill bottles sitting there. Well, that was something he could work with. 

“I almost forgot.” Chuck turned to Sarah and gave her a wheedling look. “What time is it?”

“Why?”

“David said I needed to take one of those tiny blue ones every three hours –”

“Oh, he did now?” Sarah pushed herself out of her seat and sauntered to the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, she nabbed the bottle and sifted two pills into her palm. “Well, David would want to make sure you’re okay, wouldn’t he?”

“Uh, what?”

“Never mind.” Sarah shook her head, and for some reason, she was smiling again when she held out the pills. “Anything else I can get you, Mister Bartowski?”

“N-no?”

“Good. There’s your medicine. Take it.” She lowered her face to stare into a pair of startled dark eyes. “Now, swallow. Then, keep talking.” 

“That’s a first,” he mumbled. His face clouded up as he took the pills from her hand, chasing them down with a swig from the water bottle. “You know, I’m getting a little tired –”

“I can pin you down with my thumb, you know.” Sarah stood over him with her hands on her hips, one brow quirked up. “Your threshold for a pain is still about a two, right?”

“Uh… pinning won’t be necessary.” He scooted back against the pillow, eyes flared wide. “Geez, I can’t believe I have to –”

“Say it.”

Chuck fisted the blanket tighter, but finally he shook his head in defeat. “Remember, you can’t laugh.” Resting his head against the headboard, he looked up at the ceiling. “The surveillance van, okay?” He groaned out of embarrassment. “I kissed him when we were on a stakeout.” 

“The NSA van … during a mission? Oh, that had to kill him.” Sarah chuckled, touching his cheek one time before strolling back to the table. “How… just tell me.”

The circumstances what they were, Chuck did the only thing a naked man could do to retain a modicum of dignity. He let her dangle for a ten good seconds while he readjusted the pillow under his back. When the kid was finally satisfied, he gave her a fleeting glance and tucked his hands behind his head. “Better. Where were we?”

“Chuck.” This said with the venom only a deadly spy – or a woman – could manage.

Chuck cringed at the bug-eyed look. “Okay, wow… here goes. We were tracking the video feeds from the lobby of the Redbury,” he said. “Beckman wanted to see if the Intersect had any Intel on a piece of work that went by the name of Marcus De Lorme. I guess the director of the DEA had requested any tip-off on a –”

“I will impale you with this fork if you even think about finishing that sentence,” Sarah told him between clenched teeth. “Chuck. I don’t give a damn about De Lorme or the DEA’s pursuit of a grease ball in an overpriced hotel. What the hell happened with Casey?”

“Well, there was no dojo to flee to this time.”

“And?”

“So, really. It was just a kiss. End of story.”

“Chuck?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Her eyes drifted down, then back up to his face again. She smirked. “You still do that cute pulling thing with your fingers when you’re freaking out.”

x-

“Bartowski?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t stop bouncing your leg,” Casey said, “I will nail your goddamn foot to the floor.”

“Sorreee. I didn’t realize it was –”

“Don’t look at me. Keep your eyes on the monitors,” Casey ordered. “I’d rather not tell Beckman that we let De Lorme get away because the Intersect was distracted.”

Distracted was not even in the same dimension of words and language to describe this experience. Because in a back alley outside a swanky joint off of Vine, spy and asset were seated shoulder to shoulder within the cargo area of the NSA-issued van, staring at grainy flickering images of a live feed. Actually, it was six live feeds, if the government was counting, and the monitor was dissected into six camera angles. Of course, Casey expected – in the way of an order – that the kid keep his eyes on all of them at once. But how could he even think like this? 

First, oppressive air boxed them into the cargo space, and it was freaking ridiculous that Casey had insisted they turn the engine off. Did he want them to suffocate without air conditioning or ventilation? And Casey’s skin radiated heat like a furnace, for god sakes! His hair got damp at his collar, but instead of flattening the locks, it curled his short hair just a little at the tips…. 

Chuck blinked, refocusing on the screen. Second, the meatball sub he had smuggled in had been devoured hours ago, and the kid’s stomach was reminding him in a loud way that he should’ve gone for the Italian Job foot long instead of the measly six inch. Six inches of meat is just a tease, right? Not enough to – oh, God.

Anywaaay, the final injustice was the government stuffing four cart loads of surveillance equipment and two very long warm bodies in the back of that wagon. Seriously? The only way for both of them to watch the monitors was to sit very close, and when Casey shifted his leg, well, his thigh was almost on top of his. Faded denim and hard muscle pressed up to him. 

Two hours crawled by. And he wanted to do it. Perhaps it was absurd to wonder, but why not now, dammit? Because the funny thing about being crammed in the surveillance van during a critical mission was that Casey couldn’t really kill the only person who could identify the mark.

So, Chuck did the last thing he expected to do that night. 

Swallowing hard to choke down the flutter in his stomach, he glanced at Casey and wiped his palms down his jeans. Closed his eyes briefly and counted to five. Images from the Redbury continued their erratic dance over the screen, but the kid let his line of sight drift to the side. This was it. Deliberately, Chuck angled his head, and Casey’s face was suddenly dangerously near. Goosebumps prickled on his arms when he leaned in and caught a lingering scent of spaghetti sauce on warm breath –

“Bartowski, keep your eyes on camera four –”

But Chuck wasn’t watching camera four … because he had pressed his slightly open mouth to Casey’s. A kiss. Fitting them together with no finesse. Moist and hot, following his lip with his tongue, pressing a little harder when he wasn’t immediately knocked on his ass. Asking permission that didn’t come. 

Five seconds, no more, and Chuck pulled back, taking in a sharp drag of oxygen. He blinked at his handler … and casually went back to studying the monitors. 

Casey didn’t move. Instead, he stared, maybe looking for signs that the Intersect had at last fried Chuck’s brain, and the kid wondered if he had stopped breathing altogether. When the sound of moist lips coming together finally faded, Casey’s perfectly hardened face showed a glimmer of bewilderment – but after a few blinks, the agent put on the usual scowl. 

“…what…the… hell?” 

“Oh, look. Is that our guy, Casey?” Chuck tapped one of the monitors and leaned in closer. “He fits the loose profile. Could that be our thug du jour Beckman thinks is in the Intersect?”

Casey grunted. In the dimness of the van, Chuck saw him scrub his hand over his face, as if he still wasn’t certain it happened. But, finally, his brain caught up to what Chuck had told him, and he flipped back to the mission like a good soldier. “Wait a second,” Casey said. “Did you flash, Bartowski?” The agent bent forward in the cramped space, squinting at the man on the screen. “You’re saying that this is our guy?” 

“Maybe. He hasn’t turned towards the monitor. I need to see his –”

In the split second it took for the man to turn his head towards a raven haired woman in red, the flash smacked Chuck upside the head. 

A conch shell. An open suitcase revealing a tangle of clothes and a stack of Bolivar bills. A blood red Venezuelan passport. Children sitting at a desk holding rows of glass bottles and white tubing. The conch shell. 

“– face – ah! That’s him, Casey. Marcus Aurelius De Lorme. That’s the guy.” 

Casey pinned him with an unreadable expression. “You’re sure about this?” 

“Yes. I’m sure.” The images the Intersect had fed him would make the kid sick later when he thought about it. “He’s the one they’re looking for.”

The agent nodded, and straightening in his seat, he hit a switch on the communications console. “Identification has been confirmed.” Raising a hand to his earpiece, he listened to the FBI officer repeat back the code, indicating Operation Bear Claw was a go. 

“What’s going on?” Chuck asked. 

Wordlessly, Casey climbed out of his seat and threw a tac vest over his head. He remained hunched over as he climbed around Chuck without even looking at him. “Stay here.” 

That was it. Over.

Because on a sultry Tuesday night, after being stuffed in an NSA surveillance van at Hollywood and Vine, John Casey disappeared into the Redbury Hotel. 

Ignoring the fact that his asset had macked on him. Again. 

-x-

“You kissed him. On the lips… for a second time. Are you nuts?”

“Huh. Fair question.” Chuck heaved a breath. “I wasn’t going to just sit back and wait, so I had to let him know. How else would I do it? You can’t talk to Casey,” he said. “He’s more of a show me guy, would you agree?”

“I’ll give you that much, I suppose.”

“So, it was there if he wanted to come and get it. Simple as that. I mean, let’s face facts, Sarah: being Chuck Bartowski wasn’t working so well in these situations, and waiting for something to happen sure as hell wasn’t going to work with Casey, so… I adapted, I guess.”

“You never give Chuck Bartowski enough credit.” Sarah’s eyes darkened for a few seconds. “What happened after the incident in the van?”

“The FBI swarmed the Redbury, and Marcus De Lorme was apprehended without a hitch.”

“The F –?” She thumbed her sandwich to the side, watching him very carefully. “Pinning you down on the carpet is still an option here, Chuck.”

“Hmm? Oh! You mean… well, we wrapped up and went home.”

“Just like that? Not a word? Not even one of his grunts?”

“Nope.” Chuck scraped his fork over the fatoush, trying to dig out the pickled beets. “The next day, we didn’t have to work at the Buy More … so, Casey stayed inside.”

“You didn’t go over and talk to him?”

“And let him use me for target practice? No thank you,” Chuck said. “I let him stew. Let him think about it. Oh, wait.” he stopped himself mid-chew. “There was one time when I had to go to his apartment later in the day. Ellie needed baking powder.”

“Of course, he would have some.” Sarah grinned around a bite of salad. “So, you went over there?”

“Well, I couldn’t say no to Ellie.” The kid stared blankly towards the foot of the bed, not really seeing anything but the vague picture of Casey’s apartment door that evening. “He was wearing that silk robe he had.” Russet loose folds of smooth silk, over long, slim calves. 

“He let you in wearing a robe?”

“Not the first time. Trust me.” Chuck sped up the explanation. “Anyhow, I could smell the cigar when he opened the door.” Peppery, toasted coffee scent. 

“The perfect ending after a kiss from your asset. Go on.”

“Can you be serious? I shouldn’t even tell you that there was half a bottle of scotch – the good stuff – on the coffee table.” Sweet burn of liquid amber on his breath.

“What did you do?”

“Do …? Oh.” Chuck cleared his throat and aimed his attention at the last scraps of salad. “Well, I grabbed the baking powder out of his hand and left.”

Sarah cocked her head at him. “Wait. Nothing? I mean, he would have to see you again sometime. He’s still your handler.”

“Inevitable, right?” Chuck said, motioning with his fork. “We both had the early shift the next morning.” He hesitated while the memory blitzed his mind. “This is where I knew I was in trouble. That I had lost control of… my op.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he ventured. “But when Casey came to the door to get me, he was strangely … how do I say it? Pleasant. He was smiling at me, Sarah. A real one. He touched my arm. Asked me how it was going.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I thought he had made the decision to kill me! Lulling me into a false sense of security so that he could slice my throat. Or end it all with a shot to the head.” Chuck put his finger to his temple and pulled the imaginary trigger. “I had kissed him twice, for god sakes, with no reaction.” 

“You made it to work that day, obviously,” she said, smiling.

“Shaking so badly I had to send Jeff and Lester out on my calls. My hands were ice.”

“Which was understandable in these circumstances,” she said, not hiding the tease in her voice anymore. 

“Impending death will do that to a person.” Giving up on forking another beet, Chuck picked it up with his fingers and put it in the napkin. “Who can eat those things?” he asked. “Anyway, Casey was watching me across the sales floor. Staring, really. I thought that this was it. I had pushed him too far… and the way he was sizing me up? Well, that was only to determine how many times he would need to bend me to fit into the trunk of the Vic. The only piece of me that would be returned to Ellie would be my Herder badge, and light saber key cha – you know, not important.”

“A little dramatic, even for you Chuck.”

“But that wasn’t it. It gets worse. At noon, he brought me lunch from the deli,” Chuck argued. “Roast beef on sourdough, white Vermont cheddar, and olive tapenade. He knew my sandwich, Sarah.”

“And you thought…?”

“Last meal, of course. What else was I supposed to think?”

“That maybe he liked you back? That he had made a decision?”

“Idiot, I know.” Chuck gave her a helpless look, flushing red again. It had become a constant state in the past hour, he thought. “In retrospect, if I wasn’t so freaked out, I would’ve noticed he had even changed his cologne, and then maybe I would’ve – Sarah, I distinctly remember the ‘no laughing’ policy, which you are obviously violating –”

“Sorry… sorry, I can’t help it. But, he changed his cologne. Please, continue,” she said, muffling a choke of soft laughter into her hand. “How about this? You can skip to the part where Casey doesn’t actually shoot you and leave your body to rot in the canyon.”

“Nice visual. Thanks.” Chuck glanced at the cherry tomato he was getting ready to put in his mouth, but he frowned and put it back in the container. “Okay, fast forward to the next mission. Hector Calderon. The Sinaloa Cartel.”

“That was you?” Sarah lifted her head, fingers frozen on the handle of her knife. “A big fish, Mister Intersect. I’m impressed. And, I’m sure Casey was pleased,” she added. “He loves a good takedown.”

“Well, yes and no,” Chuck said, measuring every word. “Yes, the Intersect provided the Intel, the contact point, and Casey was the one to apprehend him,” he agreed. “That wasn’t it.”

“So. What was the issue?”

“Beckman ordered him to – ah – let’s say question Calderon, and that didn’t go as well. Casey had frisked him – I saw him do it – but apparently when they locked themselves in the interrogation room at Castle… well, Hector had a cyanide pill on him – hidden somewhere on his body.” Chuck leaned back on his pillow and bit his lip for a moment. “You can guess what came next. Not that I saw it or anything like that, of course.”

Sarah winced. “Oh. That means Casey had to report back to Beckman that he lost a high level trafficking operator and any Intel because he made a mistake.” She lowered her voice. “I’m sure that went over well.”

“You know our badass man of steel. He doesn’t make mistakes,” Chuck replied, grimacing at the thought. “I’ve never seen him quite that pissed-off after he ended the call with the general. Then, Casey had to face the NSA clean-up team when they arrived to collect the body.”

“Uncomfortable. What did you do?”

“What every nerd with even an iota of self-preservation instincts would’ve done. I hightailed it out of the conference area.”

She lifted her drink to him in a mock toast. “Good choice.” 

“Thank you.” Chuck nodded, scratching the side of his neck. “Anyway. Twiddling my thumbs in the back seemed like a waste of time, so I thought I would help out. The crew had left by then, so while Casey was getting his ass chewed off by Beckman –”

“Wait a minute. Again?”

“When the crew cleared out, well, maybe her bun was still bubbling – what’s under that anyway –?”

“Ha.”

“– and apparently she had missed some of her finer points. So, she sparked up another teleconference and finished gnawing where she left off.”

“Ouch.” 

“At any rate, while he was with the general, I decided to put away all of Casey’s favorite toys –”

“His interrogation tools?”

“Yep. That way, he wouldn’t have to do it after the conference. Like he needed another reminder?”

“Good thinking, Chuck,” she said, nibbling on her lip. Her eyes lost the humor behind them. “Then what?”

“Well.” Chuck swallowed hard, dragging his hand through dark disheveled waves. “He found me.”

“That sounds … ominous.”

“It was … weird. When he kicked the door open, I could see he was breathing hard. He had … that look,” Chuck said quietly. “He didn’t walk into the room, he stalked like a wolf… on a hunt. Deadly and fully charged. Scared the crap out of me.” 

Heat pouring off of him like a river of fire. Sweat on his brow, every limb, every muscle taut, knotted beneath his skin. Drawing up dangerously to a stop. A primitive and raw gleam sparked deep within his sea blue eyes. 

“What… did he do?”

Chuck poked at a wedge of cucumber to hide his jitters before looking up at her. When he did, the kid puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. 

“That …” he said, “was the time that he finally kissed me back.”

-x-End Chapter Five Part Two-x-


	7. Chapter Five (Part Three)

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Five Part Three)

-x-

How is the general this evening? No, no, no, don’t talk about the general…!

Does the blow torch fit in the box this way, or with the nozzle pointed –? Oh, God no….

Something un-spy related… sports, yes. That’s it. Casey likes sports, doesn’t he? Okay, good … good….

Wait a minute. What the heck do I know about sports! The Dodgers. Breathe. Take a breath. Let it out….

Chuck’s stomach was churning even as he plastered on a smile. Yes, granted, the smile was this side of utterly panicked, but who could blame him, really? He knew from past experience that when Casey stalked into a room with steam pouring off of him like that … well, Chuck should be looking for a way to melt into the wall, not smile at him. 

His fake grin wavered. “Hey, Casey. I was just, uh –”

The words died in a choke. It was the look that did it. A look that sent a flash of heat from Chuck’s neck to his ears. Oh, shit. Casey was pissed.

With a quick look at his toolbox, Casey locked eyes with him, a piercing ice blue stare that could sever glass. Then, folding his arms over his chest, the agent booted the steel door closed behind him without breaking eye contact. It slammed shut with an ominous thwack.

This is it… I’m going to die….

“What the fuck are you doing, Bartowski?” Casey’s eyes drifted down to Chuck’s palm and back up again, quietly taking inventory of his gear. Squinting, he moved in closer. “Tell me,” Casey said, his face promising violence.

The kid looked at his hand and almost dropped the daunting metal instrument to the floor. Maybe this was a very bad idea, touching Casey’s tools of the trade. What the hell was he thinking? The creepy pair of modified pliers suddenly weighed ten pounds in his fist, and with Casey eyeballing him like that, he couldn’t help but consider the function of the apparatus. Get rid of them! he screamed at himself, quickly tossing them down on the table. 

“Nothing! I promise!” 

This didn’t appease the agent, however. Casey moved in another step, rounding the table to close the distance. And it was an awfully small table; in fact the entire room was the size of a shoebox and he had to get to the door – 

As if reading his thoughts, Casey pushed a metal chair in front of the exit, eyes still pinned dead ahead. 

A prickle of heat surged across every inch of Chuck’s flesh, his heart pounding like he’d never catch a good breath again. Okay, he knew damn well that Casey could be an oppressive force when he took over a room, and the kid thought he had become better at bracing himself for it, but this storm of fury was not anywhere near the baseline Chuck had dealt with.

“Casey?” The kid’s hands flew up defensively as he backed away, knocking his foot into the table leg. He stumbled, regrouped. “I thought maybe you could use some, you know, help tonight, so I thought I could –”

“Answer the goddamn question,” Casey grit out. “I asked you what you think you’re doing.”

The inflection, the menace in his tone … noted. Casey was not talking about his scary toolbox of toys anymore. No, this was definitely about the sporadic and crazy lip locks that had hit him out of the blue – by his Asset no less.

“Listen, C-Casey … maybe this was just a mistake. Oh, wait, I didn’t mean your mistake!” Backing up in a circle around the table, Chuck reached out blindly behind his back to grab a chair – or hell, anything – that he could put between them. “Clearly, this isn’t about t-tonight ... is it?” His foot hit the other metal chair, and latching onto it, Chuck dragged the seat in front of him. If he wasn’t terrified out of his skull, he would’ve laughed that his brain fed him the image of a lion tamer trapped with a hungry big cat.

When the chair landed in his path, Casey snorted. “Gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. Propelling it out of the way, he slowly meandered closer until he stood in front of the kid, feet spread in a predatory stance, eyes boring into him.

Chuck pushed his back into the wall behind him, frantic to put another scrap of space between them. “I meant my mistake, because clearly this was not welcome, and maybe we can forget – ah!”

That was as far as he got. Before Chuck could blink, Casey snagged his wrist and clamped down hard, restraining it to his side. With his other hand, the agent caught him by the back of the neck, and bulldozed the kid backwards over the table – stopping him a heartbeat before Chuck’s head would’ve slammed into the surface. He cradled it in his fingers, sheer bloody strength and weight pinning the kid’s back to the table.

Chuck looked up at him wide-eyed. “Maybe I should find another way home tonight, hmm?” He scooted his leg, trying to squirm out from under him.

“Going somewhere?” Casey put an end to the wriggling by driving one of his thighs between the kid’s legs, stretching himself over him until their faces were a mere hairsbreadth away. Hot breath grazed Chuck’s cheeks, and the fist gripping the fabric of his collar tightened its chokehold.

“What’s your game, kid?” Casey said, low enough to drive a spike into his brain.

This was it. He was going to die in an underground bunker, fifty feet beneath Yogurt and Fun.

“I thought that … well, I was only trying to – Casey, I should tell you, you’re not hurting the Intersect, but you’re hurting m-mmph!"

Casey took his mouth in a scalding, hungry kiss. Bruising. Lips tight, forcing and controlling. With Casey’s weight sapping the oxygen from his lungs, the kid tried to push him back insistently, but Casey didn’t budge. Tightening his hold, he growled into Chuck’s mouth and shoved a strong hand to the small of his back, which actually lifted him up an inch or two…

… Air. Beautiful friggin’ air… The kid felt he could breathe again, and he gasped against Casey’s mouth. The second Chuck parted his lips, Casey slipped his tongue past them and pushed in. Chuck heard a soft noise, a breath of sound he made against Casey’s teasing tongue.

What was happening? The flat muscle of Casey’s chest pressing into him told Chuck he hadn’t slipped into a soft squishy dream world. This was real, and to his own disbelief, Chuck wasn’t dead yet. He was being kissed slowly and thoroughly by John Casey.

Letting go, letting the fear drain out of him, he let Casey peel him back and take him with one shattering blitz.

When Chuck’s brain finally flicked a switch, he gave it right back. He wanted to drown in it, get a taste of Casey’s own hurt and longing, burning in the back of his throat. 

Funny. In the end, he wasn’t shattered anymore. He was put back together.

-x-

“Are you telling me … he stalked into the interrogation room and … kissed you?”

“Threw me down on the table first,” Chuck told her, looking away to avoid Sarah’s huge eyes. “My heart didn’t stop hammering for an hour.”

“Is it true what they say? Does your life pass before you, Chuck?”

“Ha. In blazing Technicolor, I might add.” Chuck frowned as he picked at a piece of limp lettuce. “Right down to the part where he chopped me up into little pieces and left chunks of Chuck Bartowski in every dumpster from Castle to Echo Park.”

“Nah. Chopping is too painstaking for Casey. He’d just shoot you.” Sarah smiled, curling her legs under her. “Obviously … that didn’t happen.” One of her brows climbed up her forehead in curiosity. “You seemed to have survived in one piece. So …?”

“Well, after … you know… the kiss and the whole life passing before my eyes thing ….” Chuck glanced worriedly at the door. “He grabbed me and hauled me out to the car and took me home to his apartment end of story.” By the time he uttered apartment, words were sputtering out in a rush. “That was all. No big deal really, and are you going to finish that because I’m still hungry, believe it or not?”

Sarah gaped. “His apartment? Casey’s lair? He took you –?” She had to stop and clear her throat. When that wasn’t working, she took a long pull from her smoothie. “Oh. Well, that was … unexpected. You must’ve been a little, uh, nervous?”

“N-nervous?” Chuck finished off the last of his pita sandwich in one bite, his blush sending a layer of sweat over his cheeks. Chewing slowly, he thought about that night. The icy silent car ride. Casey so tense the muscles in his neck were corded ropes, ready to burst through his skin. He didn’t want to think about it too hard though, because the memory sent his stomach flip-flopping. “Well, we are talking about Casey after all, so yeah, I guess so,” he echoed distantly. “You could say that maybe I was just a little bit nervous.”

Freaking Terrified out of his mind.

-x- 

“You’re shivering, and I don’t like it. So, stop, will ya?” Casey ordered. Almost inaudibly, he then added under his breath, “It’s like trying to give head to a plate of Jell-O, for Chrissakes.” 

“What? That’s n-not even –”

“…’cept for this of course.” One long lick, starting with a swirl of his tongue around the crown, dragging down the slick-wet surface to his balls. “Heh. That’s hard enough. Knew you’d be well hung for a nerd.”

For a flash, Chuck considered jumping into the battle headlong to defend the honor of nerds everywhere – except … oh, God… Casey’s tongue was flicking over his balls, sucking lightly, moving underneath to a susceptible spot that made Chuck’s hips buck towards the ceiling. 

Bastard …. Casey was pleased with the reaction, because when the kid rocked his hips up, he brought his tongue back down his length and did it again.

“… fuck … that’s ….” Chuck squeezed his eyes closed, taking every bit of willpower not to embarrass himself this early into the act. “… Casey, that’s so – … mnghh….” 

It was happening. Sucking his cock. Holy hell, only sixty minutes ago, he thought Casey was going to kill him. 

Really, the last half hour of his life was a hazy smudge; the most surreal in his twenty-eight years – and that’s saying a lot, taking into account that he had a database jammed in his brain and was the government’s most secretive supercomputer.

-x-

Being dragged by the collar while stumbling like a drunk – through Castle, the parking lot, and across the cobblestone courtyard – was disconcerting … well, horrifying, to say the least. Thank God Ellie was on third shift tonight, because words did not even exist to explain this scenario – 

“C-Casey? Where are we –” Passing by Ellie’s door, the kid realized with a jolt that Casey was making a beeline to his place. On impulse, he attempted to skid to a stop at the fountain, but feet dragging didn’t do a lick of good with Casey.

“Walk, Bartowski,” he demanded. “Or I can carry your ass.”

Oh, shit. Casey’s kiss was a just a deception. He was going to die in the agent’s apartment tonight.

“I really think that maybe we should discuss – gah!” The heavy door popped open, and Chuck was shoved inside. He nearly staggered into the foyer table, but Casey grabbed his collar again, shaking his head at him. 

“Let’s go,” Casey said in a rasp that wasn’t there before. “Move it.”

Too fast. Too much. Chuck’s brain barely registered the inside of Casey’s apartment – the familiar bank of laptops, a bowl of green apples on the kitchen counter, a tall steel gun cabinet in the corner – before his head had to process something else entirely new. Because without bothering to stop or explain what the hell was going on, Casey only gave him a brief look before barreling ahead, hauling Chuck along using the grip on his shirt as he headed up the staircase. 

The kid braced himself for the vision of what he had only imagined. The not-to-be-spoken of mysteries that lurked behind Casey’s bedroom door. Grizzly bearskins on the wall? Mounted heads? Wait. Mounted heads of terrorists and insurgents … with glassy eyes and blank stares, watching him die.

Oh crap … oh, crap….

Chuck tried to grab onto a door handle, then the railing … but this only made Casey yank harder, pulling him along on his heels. The wrought iron baluster slipped out of his hand like water, and Chuck felt his feet skid over the landing and down the hallway. A few strides ahead, and the bedroom door blew open with a well-placed kick of Casey’s boot. 

Chuck screwed his eyes closed. This is what Death is. This is it.

But instead, there was silence. Nothing. As soon as he could breathe again, the kid forced himself to open his eyes and get his first good look at Casey’s bedroom. When he did, Chuck blinked, his jaw hinged open slightly until he remembered to shut it.

“Oh.” His eyes scoured the walls for mounts or bear rugs or even a gun rack. What? “Not what I … expected,” he finally managed to say. “It’s – ah – wow, really nice … somehow?” 

Either the government had sprung for a decorator, or Casey actually had put some effort into picking out the dark cherry woods, warm cocoa brown and burnt tangerine comforter, and framed black and white photos. Chuck angled his head to peer at the prints. A winding gravel road, shaded by the branches of a whispering willow. A white farmhouse surrounded by a field of windswept stalks of wheat.

In the time it took to blink, this night just got infinitely weirder. 

“What did you expect, Bartowski?”

“Uh, well….” Stiff heads? Chuck cleared his throat. “White walls?”

Casey grunted. Folding his arms over his chest, he tilted his head, eyes drifting over the kid lazily, and his lips quirked up in a half-smile. He strolled a step or two closer. “What else did you expect?”

Without thinking, Chuck took a stride back and felt his shoulders hit the door. “I … well, I don’t –”

“Have you thought about it, kid?” Casey sauntered to a stop in front of him. “My room?” He loomed over him and settled his hands against the door, boxing Chuck in on either side. Being this close, his large presence filled every square inch of the room, sucking the oxygen from every corner. Flinty blue eyes bored into him. “Is this a game to you?”

“N-no.” Chuck grimaced at the quiver in his voice. “Listen. I know you’re wondering about, well, it,” he said. “I … I was the one that made a mistake … I thought that maybe … but, if you let me go, I promise, we can go back to –”

“Want this to happen?” So close that he breathed over Chuck’s lips.

“What … now?”

Casey lifted one of his hands that had trapped Chuck against the door, and it coasted up his arm, stopping to brush the kid’s smooth swell of his bicep. “Answer. Yes or no,” he said succinctly.

“I know what you think. You think I was just being a moron or an idiot or any other name you have for it,” Chuck replied, flinching when Casey moved his warm hand onto his shoulder. Preparing for strangulation, he told himself. His mouth went faster. “Oh, hell, what am I saying? I have no idea what you’re thinking. Maybe you’re wondering why I kissed you, not once but twice, and then I never said anything, or asked you to talk about it. You’re probably also wondering how you can kill me without the general noticing – make it look like I fell out a window or ended myself with a turkey baster and dental floss – uh, forget that part – but, it’s not a game or anything that! I wanted to do it! I swear, I only – mmmph!” 

“Bartowski?”

“Mmmph?”

“When I move my hand, I’m going to ask you a simple question.” The hand on his shoulder tightened. So did the one over his mouth. “Got it?”

Chuck did the only thing he could do. He nodded.

“I want a one word answer.” Casey gave a warning look and let his hand fall, his voice dropping to a growl. “Yes … or no. Do you want this to happen?”

“Y-yes or no?” Oh, God. That was more than one word. But his brain was scrambling for logic and he couldn’t stop. “What are you talking about … us? Are you … kidding me? I thought that maybe we should –”

“What … is your answer?” Casey stepped into Chuck’s personal space so closely that the memory of heated skin and proximity at the gun range flooded him. He felt the same charge of electricity and firepower in the air. 

Answer? Chuck blinked at him. “Is this serious?”

“What part of one word do you not get, Bartowski,” Casey asked. “I don’t play nerd games. Answer the question.”

“Wait a minute. You dragged me in here because …?” Chuck stared his handler straight in the eyes, but he felt his knees go weak. This had just turned into a bizarre twist of a night, because Casey was … asking. Chuck swallowed hard. “Do you mean –?”

“Fuck.” Casey shook his head and started to open the door. “Maybe you should head back to your sis –”

“Yes.” Chuck pushed his hand through his hair and fell back against the door, shutting it before Casey could go on. “Yes is my answer,” he blurted out. “Yes, I want it to happen. Yes, I kissed you. And, yes most of all, I was probably an idiot for wanting it to happen. So if you’re still planning on kissing me or killing me, or maybe using rusty pliers to remove something I may need later, then just go ahead and –”

Before he could eke out another word, Casey’s mouth was pressed to his, the protest swallowed whole. And, yes, he wanted it to happen, because until this unnerving, perfect moment, he’d never kissed Casey when there was no fear of retribution or knowing that he may be pushed away. At this moment, it was only Casey, telling him that he wanted it too. Bringing his mouth down on Chuck’s, he fed him what he couldn’t say with a long slow caress of lips and tongue… sweeping inside to get a raw taste of him. 

This was now, and Chuck let it wash over him. He let out a moan, buried in the sheer pleasure of finally kissing John Casey. 

The noise made Casey pause. “Like that, eh?” he growled teasingly against his lips, and not waiting for an answer, he fit his mouth over Chuck’s again. Sucking on his tongue, he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away. “… ‘cause I think you do …”

Oh, he did. He liked it enough to feel every lean muscle in his arms and legs ripple with a bold shudder, buckling under him.

Casey must’ve felt it too, the tautness in the wiry body pressed to his. “Lift up your arms a little, and relax them,” he said. “Jesus. Fists? Whattaya gonna do? Punch me?” He chuckled, deep and dirty at the thought of it.

“I would never ….” Chuck shivered at the roughness of Casey’s hands tangled into his shirt, dragging up his ribcage. “C-Casey, I –” When Casey licked his collarbone, he forgot what he was going to say. 

“You wanted this to happen, so now,” and Casey stroked his knuckles over the bare skin at his waist, “it’s gonna happen.” Dropping a kiss on the hollow of his neck, his hand glided slowly over his front, low on Chuck’s belly, two fingers trailed along his waistband. The warm palm came to a halt when it reached the front of his pants – and the fingers got busy, working on the top button of his jeans. “Lose the pants, kid.” 

“That’s – um –” Chuck breathed out, caught in a tangle of netting by Casey’s words … but not fighting it. “Are we – now?”

“Heh.” Without waiting, Casey ran his fingers down the outside of his zipper, giving him a light squeeze through the denim. One long stroke down and upward, pressing his thumb just under the head and swiping back and forth a few times. “That’s the idea.” 

Oh… fuck. Casey was right. These pants had to go. 

In a lurch, Chuck started to fumble with the top button, but Casey swatted his hand out of the way. “Nuh-uh.”

Well, it all makes sense now. His guns, his car, his Asset. Casey’s a bit possessive, the kid thought, feeling the grate of the zipper going southbound.

“God.” Chuck gasped, his head falling back lightly onto the door. He didn’t mind this. Hell, face it. He wanted to feel Casey undress him. “Okay, okay… then. If you want…”

Casey obliged. Hooking his thumb under the waistband, he yanked the pants down to his hips in one strong tug, boxers and all. 

“What else do you want?” Casey kept the southward momentum going with the pants, and when he passed over Chuck’s thighs, well, damn – Casey had copped a feel through his jeans a minute ago, so it should be obvious. “Maybe I can whip up some pancakes, eh?” he smirked. 

“P-pancakes?” The vision of Casey serving up tasty hotcakes sent his mind in a jumble. But at the moment, he had to push the image away, because his jeans were now slung around his knees and his cock was bright red and standing at attention, poking out from under his shirt.

It was something Casey might notice, right?

Chuck saw Casey glance down and it made him feel like an idiot. Here he was, pants dangling, pushed up to the door, while Casey still had his freaking boots on, for god sakes ….

… But feelings of embarrassment were balled up and tossed away a second later when Casey closed his hand around Chuck’s length with another grip and a squeeze. A smooth drag up and down … and Chuck couldn’t help but thrust into his hand. 

Off in the distance, beyond the place where his ears were ringing and blood was rushing through his limbs, he heard a dry dirty chuckle … felt it rumbling against the bare skin of his neck. 

“Oh, shit … that was….” Chuck’s head landed on the door with a thump. “Do that – mmnph.” His mouth went dry and he sucked in a lungful of air when Casey did it again. On the next swipe, the kid’s palms flattened against the door, and he slumped into it. He needed something to hold him up, since his legs had turned to water … because a hand job from his handler would do that. “… oh, that’s just … oh.” 

“Don’t pass out on me yet, Bartowski.” A sharp tap on his thigh forced Chuck to focus on Casey’s face. “We haven’t even started yet.” 

“Not going to pass out,” he said quietly, blinking at him. Just keep doing that …. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Casey snorted. “Open your eyes, will ya, so I know you’re still with me.”

“Hey, that’s not – oh, shit…” 

Casey shut down the argument with one long caress; down, back up … his thumb sweeping over the slit. “Step out of ‘em,” he said.

“Uh, what?” Chuck’s brain was stuck in the mud, wheels spinning, so it took him a second to realize his jeans were still hanging off his knees. 

Casey nodded and moved out of his space, methodically removing his SIG Sauer from his pants and pulling the clip from the handgun. He set it on the nightstand. “Pants, kid. Take ‘em off.” 

“You’re, uh, take –?” Chuck scanned his face, bewildered at first, but what could he say to that? So obediently, he lifted one foot and then the other… and silently thanked God for the door to hold him up, because John Casey helped him yank his pants off and this could not be real. 

“Shirt,” Casey ordered next. With a smug look, he stood to the side and prepared to watch him strip off his shirt and get naked. Standing there fully clothed in his tight black t-shirt and jeans. This was hot and weird and crazy at the same time.

“Okaaay, then,” Chuck managed, and lifting the shirt over his head, he tossed it on a chair in the corner. Blushing, Chuck crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. “Uh, seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” He attempted to smile, but the open scrutiny made his modesty sky-rocket, and his heartbeat ratcheted up in his chest. “I’m standing here completely, um, naked, and you’re –”

“Not completely,” Casey cut in. “Socks.”

The kid cocked his head and squinted at him. “Hmm?”

“Take ‘em off.” 

Alright, noted. Casey has a sock phobia. Chuck smiled awkwardly and bent down to take off his socks. When he stood up, Casey was eyeing him with an intensity Chuck thought was reserved only for that split second before pulling the trigger. Leaning back on the door, the kid gave a fleeting look over to the chair where his clothes were heaped in a pile. “N-now … what?”

“Well, you gonna stand there all night?” Casey sauntered a step closer.

“What?”

“You’re hanging on to the doorknob.”

“I – oh.” Chuck’s eyes darted down and he got a good look at his own white knuckled fist, clamped around the handle. “Ha. Just … checking to make sure it’s locked. Wouldn’t want any –”

The kiss crashed into his mouth, stopping the flow of babble. It was most definitely dirtier, more aggressive this time, not that he had many in his Casey repertoire to compare it to, but still. It was. Slow and thorough, coaxing his mouth with lazy licks of his tongue. Casey pushed in more insistently, and Chuck felt a wash of heat and moistness fill his mouth. 

But the play of lips was no distraction for the sensations a little lower. Casey leaned in close again, grinding down in a long drag over Chuck’s cock, back and forth in a bumpy glide. The rough denim and dry friction would make him raw if Casey kept it going, but he wanted to feel it. On the third swipe, the kid made a small hungry sound, a noise that was answered by a thick growl into his mouth. 

His brain was slow to tell him that the action was moving; he was being pushed sideways and backwards. Casey’s large hands were splayed over his hips, fingers digging in to steer him away from the doorway, and he felt the back of his knees hit something firm. Chuck grunted in surprise, and swung a hand out blindly to steady himself, but Casey grabbed the flailing hand and just pushed until the kid felt his back sinking into the mattress. 

“Gah.” Tensed, Chuck opened his eyes and stared up at his handler. “That was a little … I just didn’t expect –”

“It’s a bed, Bartowski. Not Karachi.” Casey followed him down until he was lying flat on top of him. “Thought you might like it better this way.”

“I’d like it better if I wasn’t the only one naked here.” Chuck lifted his head and kissed him, using his teeth to give Casey a nip at his jaw before pulling away. ‘Just sayin’.”

Casey grunted, a lewd sounding one, which was new to the inventory. “I don’t know. I kinda like it this way.”

“This way?” Chuck asked. “Do you mean th – oh. Shit.”

And that was when it happened. At one fifteen, very early on a Friday morning in Casey’s dark and humid upstairs bedroom, he shivered like a plate of Jell-O, as Casey had put it so damn eloquently.

Fine. Yes, he had trembled. But under no logical scenario could Chuck convince himself that it would be a good idea to tell Casey the truth: that a pair of man’s lips had never been that close to the merchandise before. Taking a deep gulp of air, he let it out slow, let the shivers drain out of his limbs.

“… yeah … better….” Casey told him, and he lifted himself up on one arm, scooting himself back further. He gripped and squeezed the flesh and sinewy muscle along the way, leaving a trail of long slow strokes with his palm over his chest and stomach… until he was straddling Chuck’s knees.

The kid breathed deeply, fought down his jitters. He felt his eyes drifting shut, just at the anticipation of more … more of that mouth and lips on his bare skin. “… God, Casey…” he whispered, waiting, but there was no touching yet. 

After ten seconds ticked by, Chuck glimpsed down at him. The lights from the courtyard slanted in through the blinds, and he could see Casey in the dimness, his eyes pinned to Chuck’s dazed face.

“Good. Waiting for you to watch me.” Satisfied that he had his attention, Casey brought his thumb up to the ridge of Chuck’s cock, smearing precome around the crown before lifting it up to his mouth. His lips sealed around it, and his eyes darkened with a smoky, luring glint. “That what you want?” Casey asked. “Or this?”

He repeated the swirling motion, this time with his tongue. 

“… what’re you …? Oh, God… do that…”

“Like that, huh,” Casey said, lifting his head up long enough to peer into a pair of glazed dark brown eyes. 

“…mmnhh … that’s… yes.” Chuck flushed, clutching the sheet. “… w-won’t complain if you do it –ah! again.”

The tight twirling with his tongue around the broad crown was repeated until Chuck couldn’t remember the day of the week, the mission, or the fact that his life was a messy lie. None of that mattered. Truly, if Casey’s objective was to keep him off balance tonight, well, it was working.

Maybe that was Casey’s plan all along. Either that, or to short out the electrical currents of the damn Intersect altogether, because if he kept doing that lick movement with the tip of his tongue, it was going to happen. 

Try explaining that to Beckman.

At the moment the kid thought the excruciating traces of tongue and sucking would push another shudder out of him, Casey sank down and took him deep into the back of his throat. His strong fingers circled him, his thumb tracing the taut vein as he slid up and down… 

… Oh, that did it. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut and without thinking, bucked his hips up into his mouth, but Casey would have none of that.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, raspy, digging his hands into Chuck’s hips. In a heartbeat, Casey locked down his movement. “My way. Just give it up, eh?” 

Give it up. As if limbs as loose as overcooked noodles could fight him on this. And, let’s be real here. Why in the hell would he fight him, when the man had a tongue that could –

“… oh… fuck, Casey…” A scrape with his teeth along Chuck’s length from tip to root ended the argument in his head. “… that’s just… mmph….”

“Yeah, you like that…” Casey pulled back, hot breath brushing his shaft, keeping his hand gliding over the smooth hot skin. “… this too, I bet…”

Casey sank down, finding a rhythm; sucking in on the way up, then drawing back. His tongue caressed him, dragging along the length, taking his time… a delicious torment. The friction, his warm mouth, increasing suction, it was working him to the edge. 

“…shit… I want, God, Casey….” Chuck voice broke, splintered in a million little pieces. “… suck that…”

“…yeah, that what you want…?” Withdrawing and sinking, sliding up and down his length… it left a trail of clawing need up Chuck’s spine. Time ceased, details blurred. Acting on desire and instinct, Chuck tried in vain to buck up again. Casey simply answered this with a grunt of appreciation, and squeezing down harder on his thigh, he kept going. Finally, when Chuck thought he might burst, Casey lifted his head just long enough to ask for it. “Wanna come for me now? ... lemme see it….”

Oh, God. Right when he thought the delicious torture had taken him to the brink, Casey did something fucking fantastic. Snaking one hand down from his hip, he fondled Chuck’s balls, rolling them in his palm, giving them a little tug. Telling him it was okay. Pushing him over the ledge. 

Chuck’s mind emptied. His back arched with tension, his head tipped up and his eyes shut reflexively. Fingers groped, desperate to take hold of something and hang on. Gripping a handful of the sheets in his fists, Chuck clenched his teeth and groaned as he released. Vaguely, he wondered if he should’ve warned Casey, but considering Casey had asked for it – hell, demanded it – a fair warning probably was not necessary at this juncture. What was proper etiquette here, anyway? He’d have to Google that later. Much later, when he wasn’t a loose puddle of goo and long legs, wobbly and sprawled over the rumpled sheets.

It took a minute for his heart to stop rattling in his chest, his breath to even out. When it did, he could hear the trickle of water in the courtyard fountain, nothing else. A half a minute stretched by before the kid felt a dip and sway of the mattress that forced him to finally open his eyes. 

“Heh. Wish I woulda known months ago that that would shut ya up.”

Chuck blinked at him. Casey’s arms were locked at the elbows, his face above Chuck’s, looming over him. The kid’s eyes drifted up his thick arms, taking in the curve and swell of them until he reached his face, or more specifically, Casey’s mouth. He was biting the tip of his tongue. The tongue that had just done crazy and magical things to his cock. Chuck felt a red hot blush on his cheeks.

“Very funny,” he mumbled. “Uh, maybe next time, before I – well, should I tip you off or something?” 

Casey grunted, amused. With no warning or apologies, he kissed him again, and now Chuck could taste the salty tang of himself in the back of his mouth. That was not supposed to be hot, but it was, and it pushed a moan out of his throat. Casey teased his mouth and tongue, swallowed down the small groans that Chuck fed him. It was wet and hungry, and he could just lay there and let Casey kiss him, but Casey pulled back and flopped down on the bed next to him.

“I … well, that was –” Chuck stopped, merely for the reason that he had no freaking clue how to finish that sentence. So, instead, he shifted on the comforter, stretching in a languid movement, and drew in a breath; the night air was thick and warm, holding him into the mattress as tightly as Casey had. The kid slanted him a look. “Uh, Casey?”

“Hmm?” Casey adjusted the pillow under his head, not bothering to look over at Chuck. With a content huff, he settled back in again. Shit. Still fully clothed. 

That needed to be remedied.

“I figure this has to be covered in the NSA manual somewhere,” Chuck said. “For situations like this? Under the heading Asset-Handler Relations.”

“Yeah, I think it’s in the section under acts of treason.” Casey snorted and rubbed his eyes. “Fifty Ways to get your ass fired, or better yet, sent to military prison for thirty-five to life.”

“Well, that’s not the situation I meant.” Chuck rolled over on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “I meant, does it say what will happen if your asset asks you … to remove your shirt?”

Casey glanced up at him, wearing a little smirk on his face. “I think that’s in the same section.”

“One thing about me being the Intersect and all?” Chuck sat up, and after a war in his head – seeing that flirting with Casey was scarily new to him – he slowly ran his hand down the front of Casey’s shirt. “I’m an expert at keeping secrets. Thousands of them.” 

“Heh. Like what?” Casey grabbed the hand that was now fiddling with the hem of his top, but hey, so far, he was willing to play along. 

“Okay, fair question.” Orgasm had relaxed Chuck to the point that he would take a risk or two. After a fraction of hesitation, he swung his leg over Casey and straddled his hips, naked legs aligned perfectly along denim. He half expected that the next thing he would feel was the floor, but Casey didn’t push him off. Instead, he just sized him up with ocean blue eyes that could tack him to the wall if they wanted to. Chuck slowly drew his hand down Casey’s middle one more time. “For example, if my handler did decide to take off his shirt, well, that would be a secret that would have to stay in the Intersect. One more to add to the database.”

“Really?” Skeptical, with a hint of “I’m listening.” 

“And, it seems to me that one boundary was already crossed tonight, so I don’t see –”

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Totally confused by the request, Chuck raised the arm that was still resting on Casey’s shirt, and held out his hand. “Y-yes?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “The other one.”

“Oh. You could’ve specified –”

The agent cut him off by snagging his other wrist and turning it sideways.

“Gentle… gentle.” Chuck kept the panic out of his voice. “I may need that for – what are you doing? My watch?”

“Taking it off.” Casey pulled the black plastic band through the loop and tugged, loosening the strap.

“Uh, why? I thought you said it comes off for showers only. I recall something about ‘kicking my nerdy ass’ if I took it off otherwise?”

But just like that, it was off his wrist. Casey turned it over, slid the cover down, and popped out the battery. “This is an exception,” he said, tossing the watch and battery on the nightstand. “I get to make the rules.”

“Isn’t that going to send an alarm to Langley or a squadron of F-15s in our airspace if it’s shut off?”

Casey reached over and picked up his cell phone just as it began to chirp. “Sent to me first. Safety precaution.” When Chuck raised a brow at him, Casey continued to explain, “If the alarm goes off because of acts of idiocy –” 

“Hey!”

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, the Intersect drops it, or falls down, or he smashes the battery somehow … I can go on.”

“Not necessary,” Chuck groused. “That was months ago, you know.”

“Well, as your handler, I can override the alarm and signal that your bony ass is just fine. Safe and secure.” Holding the phone up, he pressed a button. “That way, Beckman has a safety net before she has to call in a DEFCON Two.” 

“Two? Wait a minute – is that high or low?”

“A notch below maximum readiness,” Casey replied. “One means war is imminent, so figure it out.”

“Oh.” Chuck grimaced. “Makes me feel a little queasy about the paintball incident at the Buy More parking lot that night. I mean, really though; who knew the battery was so susceptible to the shell casings from Morgan’s T68 Sniper gun?” He shook his head. “DEFCON Two, huh?” 

“Gotta keep the Intersect out of the wrong hands,” Casey said, dragging a palm down Chuck’s bare thigh. As Chuck edged in closer, he grinned at him. And these were the right hands. “But tonight … well, it could be a risk if anyone reviewed the tracking data and found out the asset spent the night in my bed.”

“Which brings us back to the whole shirt question again, I might add.” Chuck bent forward, placing both hands on either side of Casey’s head. “So, Mister Handler, I promise you, my lips will be sealed.”

“Seems like it would be goddamn waste to take the shirt off, then, wouldn’t it. Heh. Not to mention the pants.”

“Oh? Oh, God. That’s not – I didn’t –” No amount of babble could halt the blush from blazing over his cheeks. Chuck cleared his throat and started again. “The secrets, I mean.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at him and chuckled, but after a long moment, he lifted his arms and unfolded them on the pillow over his head. In his mind, Chuck drew a picture of exactly what it looked like. The time-honored sign of complete surrender. “Well?” Casey rumbled. “You wanted it. Take it.”

Just like that, permission granted. Well, Casey didn’t have to say it twice. With a lopsided grin, Chuck latched onto the hem and pulled it over his waist, up his chest – holy hell – and Casey complied by lifting his shoulders so that the kid could get it over his head.

“So?” Casey asked, voice dropping dangerously low. “Now what?”

Chuck flung the shirt off to the side, and dropped his hands on his knees, taking in the sight. A topography of firm pale flesh lay below him; thin white lines of stray nicks or a scar here and there… a map of his life and the marks it left on him. Taking his permission to the limits, the kid ran his fingers through a patch of chest hair that lightened and trailed down, ending in a place where Chuck was straddling Casey’s legs. 

Damn pants.

Well, there were other ways to loosen them, and Chuck was feeling courageous enough from his lofty perch to try another route. Dipping his head, the kid buried it in the crook of Casey’s neck, leaving a dry dusting of kisses against humid skin … licking and sucking under his ear. It took only a few nibbles along his tendon until he heard the reaction he was looking for. Casey’s breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling under Chuck’s palms and lips. Chuck smiled against his skin, relishing the response, but he took his time – this was new and he wanted to feel it. Leaving a burning trail with his lips, he inhaled deeply and took in the real scent of him, like burnished ale in the sun. 

Admittedly, the kid couldn’t lose all of his anxiousness, not with John Casey under him, but a bolt of daring sent him scooting down a little. Chuck lowered his lips, letting them skim along the side of his ribcage. 

Casey twitched, and then stirred on the mattress. Well, judging the result, Chuck decided to string out his luck and do it again. Another twitch, an intake of breath. 

Wasn’t this a revelation? The kid swept his fingers over Casey's chest and beamed a smile. “Casey, are you tickle –”

A large hand swooped down, cupping his jaw, and Chuck was forced to look up at him. “Kid?”

“Hmm?”

“Do that again, and I will cuff you to the headboard for the night. Got it?” Oh, and that look? He was not kidding either. 

“Uh, sorry?” Chuck bit down on his lip to stop smiling. “I’ll try to stay clear of your ticklish places.”

“Not ticklish.”

The kid chuckled, secretly pleased that his soft laugh sounded Casey-like in its skepticism. “What about this, I wonder...?” He brought his head down, just above Casey’s belly button, and left a long wet stripe over his stomach.

Casey watched him do it, eyes locked on his tongue as it made a path over his skin. That time, he didn’t even flinch. “See?” His voice was guttural, deep as dirt.

“Okay, but before you congratulate yourself, Mister Super-Spy, I’m not done yet.” 

Casey grunted and shifted his hips under him again. “Keep going,” he suggested.

Well, that was more than permission; that was an engraved invitation. Chuck leaned down, gliding tiny wet loops of his tongue, soft licks right over the waistband of his jeans. When he swirled the tip of his tongue over the bare skin well under his belly button, Chuck heard a harsh groan over his head. He took that as a sign of approval, and used his tongue to swish a line from his lower abs down again. Responding to the touch, Casey heaved a long low breath, and his hips came off the mattress – but the damn pants were still in the way…

Chuck lifted his head. “Sooo, in the NSA manual, in that same heading of Asset-Handler relations –” 

“Under the heading of treason?” Casey broke in.

“Yep, that was the one,” Chuck agreed. “Just curious. Are there consequences if your asset asks you to … take off your pants?"

“Only if I actually take them off, Bartowski.”

“Well?”

Casey shrugged a shoulder, pretending to carefully weigh the options. “Looks like I might have to suffer the consequences. This time.”

“Consequences …?”

“What. Like you have another name for it?”

“Does this mean … you’ll let me, uh, take them off?” Chuck blushed at the words after hearing them. Holy crap. Getting some head from his tough-as-nails handler had made him brazen. “Since, we probably already, well, violated most of those rules?” 

Casey squinted up at him – what? Like he was still considering the alternatives? – but finally gave a curt nod. Without a word, he linked his fingers behind his head, getting damned comfortable, and eyeballed Chuck with an inscrutable expression. “Well?”

Do it, the look said.

A little tentatively, the kid’s hand slipped over the waistband and latched on to the button of Casey’s jeans. Telling himself not to think about where his hand was, Chuck looked up at his handler with a raised brow. “You’ll have to lift your …?” He finished by tapping him on the side of his hip. “Because it might be a little hard – I mean difficult to try –”

Thankfully, Casey moved, arching his hips over the mattress, saving Chuck from trying to continue that sentence. 

“Need instructions for this part?” Casey gave him a smug smile. “And careful with the zipper, eh, Bartowski?” 

“I have done this before.” Chuck rolled his eyes, not able to stop the grin. Well, with his own pants, of course. That counts, right? Because Casey did not need to know this was the first time he had ventured to touch another man’s zipper. 

Pausing to wet his lips, the kid tucked his fingers into the top of Casey’s pants, rubbing the warm skin there, and tugged the jeans over his hips and lower still. Boxers and all dragged down, revealing a trail of hair under his belly button, a sprinkling over his upper thighs, and –

Holy hell. That does explain a few things, though. The bulge in the back during the shooting range incident? Yep.

Chuck blinked, realizing he now looked like a complete idiot. With one last peek – wow – he averted his eyes away, landing on the very pleasant black and white framed photo over the bed.

Casey followed his line of sight, and smiled. “Like the artwork, kid?”

“Uh, nice use of –” and Chuck stopped in horror when he heard his voice climb an octave. He coughed. “Light filtering and, well, –”

“Look at me.”

Chuck swallowed hard and slanted his eyes to Casey’s face. “Y-yeah?”

Casey answered by bringing up a hand, rubbing Chuck’s jaw with a fingertip, stopping to swipe the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip a few times. “Tell me you’re not –”

“No,” Chuck said quickly, wrapping his fingers around Casey’s wrist. “No, no, no … I didn’t mean … I want to, trust me. It’s just … you know, a lot to take in and all –”

Casey let out a husky chuckle, and when Chuck looked up, he had that loose, lazy smile on his lips again. “Might wanna stop talking, eh?” Twisting his wrist from Chuck’s grip easily, he rubbed his thumb over the kid’s lips one more time before tucking his hand behind his head again. “Seems to get you in trouble.” 

“Geez, thanks.” Chuck blew a breath. “It’s just not easy to believe this is happening, that’s all,” he said to himself. “As if my life could get stranger or more frightening, huh?”

Casey eyed him for a minute before lifting one of his knees to joggle Chuck from his throne just a little. The smile had faded. “You afraid?” he asked quietly. Chuck’s brain automatically appended the rest since Casey never would. Of me?

“Afraid?” Chuck bit down on his lip and looked to the side. Hell, yes he was afraid. He was still John Casey, badass at large, and Chuck would be nuts not to have a healthy dose of fear towards the agent. But, he almost had to slap his head at his idiocy when he realized Casey’s real question. Was he afraid to do this? 

Well, was he? “No,” Chuck said, rolling his shoulders back and looking him in the eye. “Not now.”

That was the truth. Saying it felt liberating.

Casey gazed up at him a little longer, but seemed satisfied with the answer. His tone lightened. “Really, ‘cause I thought maybe you were wondering if it would bite.” A sly glint returned to his blue eyes. “Never has yet, ya know.”

Chuck smiled. “Good point.” He leaned down, placing his hands on either side of Casey’s hips, framing his very stiff cock between his palms. “I think its lacking the mandible. Oh, and incisors, by the looks of it.” 

Casey laughed a little. It was a deep roll, like thunder at night, and Chuck decided he loved that sound. “God, you are a fucking nerd.” But the corner of his mouth quirked up. Hell, a real smile. It looked incredible there.

“I should warn you, though,” and Chuck pointed a blazing smile right back at him, “about the biting? Well, I just might.” He ducked his head and left only a soft bite, missing the perfectly curved standing target completely … digging in lightly with the edge of his teeth right above Casey’s hip bone. Then, Chuck licked lightly over the spot where only the barest of marks were left.

Casey watched him keenly, eyes sparking. “Like I have something to worry about,” he snickered. “Looks like the same aim that I saw at the shooting range.”

“Oh?” Smart ass. Forget the fact that at the moment, he was actually engaging in flirty – hell, kind of dirty – dialogue with his new – what would you call him? He would come back to that point later. Because right now, this was actually working. Working well enough to lick the smooth skin at his hip one more time, and he moved his tongue over the jut of his hip bone. “Funny. The way I remember it, my instructor gave me a passing grade that night. But,” and Chuck lowered his head, now looping his tongue languidly across the hard flesh of Casey’s inner thigh, “he was a bit of a wild card. Impatient, you know?”

“Like … now?” Casey’s voice dropped to the gravelly register. The change in tone made Chuck look up, gazing into darkened blue eyes, lidded at half-mast. “… c’mon …”

In a crazy night of firsts, one more was on the brink of being added to the list. He told himself there was no right or wrong to this; it was simply diving in, like swimming in the deep lakes of eyes that were watching him. It was about feeling it, gauging reaction to his tongue; pleasing Casey, but at the same time, pleasing himself too. Taking what he wanted. 

So, take it. Chuck positioned his head and breathed in deeply, his tongue touching the soft tight skin at the tip. He brushed his lips just barely over the slick precome at his slit … felt the way his tongue coasted over the taut surface. He’d thought about this, late at night, and now that he had Casey spread out like a picnic on a checkered tablecloth, well, dammit, Chuck wanted to explore him. Really taste him. Swirling his tongue over the tip, he used the precome to smear around the ridge, getting it wet – and he looked up when he heard Casey inhale sharply through his nose. So, he liked that, right? Well, one way to find out. When he circled his finger around the broad head, Casey instinctively lifted his hips into the touch, and groaned deep in his throat.

He approved. 

Confidence bolstered – hey, he hadn’t screwed it up yet – the kid ducked his head and stopped, breathing heavily over the shaft before his tongue grazed the tip. Slippery, salty, but not unpleasant. Braver, he parted his lips a little more, letting them glide over the surface, and he curled his tongue around the ridge. Who knew? It was a paradox of sensation. Loose, but tight. Velvety soft and pliant skin, yet rigid. Nothing scary so far.

“Take the rest of it … make it wet, eh…” Casey said hoarsely. “… just a little with your teeth … not too much, may need it for later, Bartowski.” 

If he didn’t have Casey’s dick cupped to his mouth, he was sure he could come up with a witty reply to that. 

But orders? Now this was unexpected, but why should it be? Casey was probably a drill sergeant at one point in his career. Of course, he would tell Chuck what to do; how he liked it, want control of it.

So, take more? At the command, saliva had pooled in the back of his mouth, and he could feel a burst of adrenaline, a stirring in his lower belly as his body reacted. Only one way to do that. Chuck opened his mouth, but instead of sinking down straight, he cupped his lips to the veined surface, then opened wider still as Casey’s cock breached his lips along the side. Molded them along his length, letting his tongue curl in a path from the crown and downward, sliding down slowly … back up again. Chuck let the saliva dribble out the side of his mouth, and without even thinking, he complied. Getting it slick, wet, just a light scrape with his teeth.

The kid slipped his tongue over the saliva, smoothing out the roughness of the surface… until it was slippery under his lips and he could bring his mouth up and down the side without the tug of skin. 

“… mmm, better…” Casey’s voice was barely audible, scratchy. “You should take more …” 

Impatient, yes. But, damn. Chuck was new at this, easing through the learning curve, and after imagining the experience, he wanted to savor every inch of that perfect curve. 

The crazy truth was, it was still what he wanted too. 

So, instead of sinking straight down, he moved his tongue over the crown, swished just along the ridge. Sucked on the head lightly. Then, he pulled back and breathed over it, sure that his breath skimmed the him like a tickle. 

The movement of his tongue earned the kid a throaty cut off noise over his shoulder – not that it sounded like a complaint for drawing this out, either. “… you like that…?” he heard Casey say.

“…mmm…” Chuck murmured, hot breath washing over his length. It was not a lie. His life was a twist of lies, but that wasn’t one. He does like it.

To show him, Chuck dragged his lips along the tightly veined cock, and back down again… just as slow and easy as before. This felt good, and the feeling had to be shared, because when Chuck slid his mouth down and back up one more time, adding the tongue swish, Casey’s thigh muscles went taut under his fingers. Flushed by the reaction, Chuck let him know that he felt it by squeezing in with his fingertips. 

Casey tensed again, and when the kid glanced up, he saw a pair of eyes, kind of glazed over but somehow drilling a hole in him. Casey was breathing heavily, his body a tight coil of muscle sprawled out under him, tension balancing like a spring ready to snap. His hands were down to his side, loosely clutching into the rumpled sheets. A tick or two later, Casey lifted his head from the pillow, and rubbed the side of Chuck’s neck with a sweaty palm, brushing a few messy curls with his fingers. 

“...god… suck it … want that…?”

Since John Casey had burst into his life a year ago, there was not a doubt: in a match between them, Casey held the power. There was always that inkling in the back of Chuck’s head that Casey could bend him or break him in half on a whim. Maybe it was the rush of seeing Casey debauched with need, and knowing for this brief flash of time, that he held the power. Control that made him take it slow. Watch it and feel it vibrating under him. 

But did he want that? There was only way one to show Casey, because hearing those words and the ache brimming underneath had sent a jolt of heat through him. Yes, he wanted it. Letting his eyes drift closed, Chuck breathed in the wild scent, and sunk down straight on his cock. Letting go of every sensation except what he felt against his lips and his tongue. Heat and moisture crossing stiff, veined skin. Still testing how much of Casey he could comfortably take in his mouth, the kid stopped, pressed in with his tongue, and pulled back. Feeling reckless after the first few wet glides, he took a few more achy inches – until a tickle at the back of his throat sent up a warning signal. Chuck avoided the embarrassing gag by dragging his lips up again, slowly. Twirling his tongue around the rim when he got to the head.

“…yeah, keep doing it…” Casey’s voice was thick, raspy. “…come down again… like that …”

A warm hand massaged the back of his neck, sweeping through his dark waves before Casey used the firm grip to nudge his head down. It was a surprisingly gentle urging. Just Casey, in the simplest way, telling him he wanted it. 

Chuck complied. Sinking down to the comfortable depth, he dragged back up, flicking his tongue because Casey seemed to like it. 

“... Jesus … better, kid….”

The nudging on the back of his neck established a rhythm, and okay then … this works too. The kid was learning on the fly, he figured, so he relaxed into it, letting Casey show him how he wanted it. It was sublime and simple, the way his mouth smoothed along his cock, like sinking into a Jacuzzi tub on a cool night. Submerged in a pool of heat.

“…mmm … fuck. Lemme fuck your mouth….”

Chuck moaned at this. Partly because it was dirty and flooded his system with lust. But partly, he had no idea why that was different than what he is doing, and he was sure Casey was going to show – oh.

Strong fingers threaded through his dark waves, fisting the back of his head, and the kid felt Casey steady his him, holding him in place.

“… fuck… let me… yeah, keep it like that…” This time, Casey jerked his hips off the mattress, thrusting up into his mouth… but it wasn’t clumsy or uncomfortable; it was still what they both wanted. Weird, but Casey seemed to know how much of him Chuck could take; he pulled back, surged in, pushing between his lips.

Chuck had no idea why he was suddenly swamped with the memory of the shooting range. That first night at the Montebello Training Academy. Exactly the same. The way Casey had positioned him, steering his feet, guiding his hands over the weapon. But not to control him. To show him without words what he needed Chuck to do.

The world was speeding up. He could feel it in the thrust and rhythm of each stroke in his mouth. Obscene and perfect noises filled his head, and he poured all of himself into it. Oh, God. Chuck wanted to see this, and he tilted his head slightly, managing to catch a glimpse of something that made his dick throb to life. 

Casey’s chin was tipped, his head back, his body a tight coil on the brink of release. He let out a groan, a deep sound that reverberated in every corner of the bedroom, and then a low string of curses. A gentle tug started in his hair even as Casey thrust up with more purpose, intensity – and instead of the nudge up that Chuck expected, Casey’s hand froze, gripping tightly into the curls still wound between his fingers.

Chuck couldn’t even think. His brain was floating somewhere near the ceiling, and a pulse of hot fluid filled the back of his throat. He could do nothing but let it happen. Clenching his fingers into the meat of Casey’s thighs, he closed his eyes and took it.

Of course. It made sense. Casey tasted like the sea. A riptide of salt water. The kid felt himself drowning in it, so he did the only thing to breathe again. Chuck swallowed, taking all of him. 

What truly surprised him was the crash of his senses. Because at two a.m. on a Friday, lying in a man’s bed who he thought would kill him first than allow it to happen, Chuck was smacked with two things he hadn’t felt since, well, forever. Didn’t realize he would find them there. 

Longing. And maybe, just a little bit of hope. 

-x-End Chapter Five Part Three –x-


	8. Chapter Five (Part Four)

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Five Part Four)

-x-

Chuck pushed a mess of damp curls from his forehead and drew in a steady even breath. When he inhaled, Casey’s scent of musk and spice was in his nose, filling his head with the man. A languid minute stretched by before the kid felt his body slowly uncoiling from the controlled tension, the constant quiver of the last hour slowly draining out of him. 

Holy shit. Chuck swallowed again, the lingering taste of Casey still in the back of his mouth. Not unpleasant, just new. He rested his flushed cheek on Casey’s lower stomach, the skin slick with sweat, and stroked a thumb over the smooth dip from his ribcage to his belly. Avoid that ticklish spot, he reminded himself, because there was no doubt Casey would make good on his threat – and he sure as hell kept a pair of cuffs handy, too. Steering clear of the sensitive vicinity, Chuck skimmed his palm over the sparse hair on Casey’s thigh before pulling his hand away. He propped himself up on an elbow, slanting a look at his bed partner.

Casey’s eyes were still closed. One thick arm was bent, resting over his head on the pillow, fingers curled and palm pointed up. The other hand was draped along his side, lightly clenching the rumpled sheets in a bare movement, like the reflex of an aftershock. 

Damn. 

Chuck wanted to show Casey how this felt, to finally be here. He wanted to lean in and press his mouth down in a smooth sleepy tangle of lips, leave nips along his stubbly cheek to his jaw. But not knowing how Casey would deal with the aftermath, the kid stayed back and licked his bottom lip nervously, still watching his face. God, Casey had to be feeling something right now, wasn’t he? But all the mysteries were locked behind those closed eyes.

Cautiously, Chuck scooted up, grabbing a handful of the blanket that had worked its way down to their feet in the past half hour. He started to reach for the pillow that was next to Casey’s head, but Casey’s arm came down and stretched over it. At first, Chuck’s hand froze – was he being told without words to get his ass out of bed?

“Here.” Casey’s rough palm dragged around Chuck’s back and he nudged his head down into the perfect crook of his shoulder. Hard and firm, but the swell of muscle and flesh softened it enough to be comfortable. Wow. Really comfortable. Chuck could get used to this kind of pillow.

Part of him wondered how he got here. Not that he didn’t want this. Hell yes, he wanted every long perfect inch of John Casey, wanted to feel his naked body stretched out next to him. 

It was surreal, starting with the kiss. A hot flickering flame. Bodies fit together like interlocking puzzle pieces. Bare skin and scorching mouths … 

… So, now what?

The kid rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t answer that, but what would come later? Well, that was easy. He was still Chuck Bartowski.

Which meant that in the wake of this impossibly crazy night, when he was home in his own bed, Chuck would schedule a few minutes to have the inevitable freak out. Because, oh, yeah, it was gonna happen. It would hit him in a jumble of raveled up images and realizations. That razor sharp moment deep in the night when the apartment was quiet and there was nothing but the sound of his own thoughts rushing between his ears. 

For starters, this nugget could be the first to grapple with: John Casey blew him tonight like one of those ten dollar Cuban cigars he’s so fond of. He did it, took him up to his not-so-scary taupe and chocolate brown bedroom and stripped him down like a –

Oh, shit. What will Ellie say about this?

Stop. Don’t go there.

Now that Chuck was mulling that over, in the scheme of things, it could arguably be lower on the list of Reasons to Freak Out, due to this little gem: he had willingly returned the favor. His NSA handler, for God’s sake! John Casey. The cold school killer with a fucking Major attitude.

Wait a minute. None of those could compare to number one on the list. 

Chuck liked it. Wanted it to happen again. It was a yearning that was more than physical. Since being Intersected and disconnected from everything real in his life, he craved something that wasn’t a lie. The last thing he expected was an involuntary reaction to a man who spoke volumes through monosyllabic noises, a man who held to a fierce code of honor and duty….

… what the hell, the truth? Dammit, he could gain surrender through nothing more than a look.

Well, this makes things complicated. 

The air in the bedroom settled over them like a woven blanket, sticky and humid, and lying in the swelter, the kid was struck with something else entirely new. Their scents entwined after sharing their bodies. Casey’s vanilla shampoo. Clean cotton and perspiration. Something else he could get used to.

He should say something, right? No, wait. This was Casey. What on earth was he thinking? Talking would spook him, and the afterglow of sex would evaporate like steam over a simmering pot. So instead, the kid shifted into the crook of Casey’s shoulder and stilled. He couldn’t help the feeling of unease, though, lying in a bed and in a room that wasn’t familiar – yet? Was Casey going to roll over on his side and toss him out of here in the process?

Not daring to move, the kid almost jumped when he felt a brush of bare skin on his arm. It took him a heartbeat or two to grasp that the touch was the agent’s large hand lazily drifting over his bicep. A caress with the tips of his fingers down his arm. Casey was letting this happen. 

Okay, then. Sliding his hand over Casey’s chest, Chuck let his finger loop through the patch of chest hair, half-listening to the soft trickle of water in the courtyard fountain. It was exactly the same sound he heard when he left the Morgan Door open at night. Intimate and comfortable. 

But right now, it reminded the kid he was utterly bone weary, lulling him to close his eyes. “Should I… go home?” Chuck asked quietly.

“Is Ellie on shift tonight?” Casey sounded half asleep.

“Yes. And the Captain too, I think.”

“You can stay,” he replied, brushed his fingers along his arm again.

“Casey?” Shifting on the mattress, Chuck tilted his head to peer at him in the dim light. The agent was looking up at the ceiling, kind of distant and not really seeing what was in front of his eyes. The only movement was his rough palm sweeping lightly over Chuck’s arm. “I’m not lying to my sister about this,” the kid told him.

Casey glanced down at him and shrugged a shoulder. “Not asking you to. You can talk to her. But Beckman?” His face clouded up at the sound of her name. “That’s another story,” he finally admitted. “One we’ll have to figure out.” 

“Something tells me that this would cause those four little stars adhered to her epaulettes to combust.”

“Heh.” Casey scrubbed a hand over his face. “If we were lucky,” he replied.

“So the question becomes,” and Chuck balked at first before plowing ahead, “why … did you do it, Casey?”

Well, it figured. Casey said nothing to that, only a still heavy moment hung in the air. Chuck had to wriggle his shoulders and sit up just to get a better look at Casey’s face. The kid blinked in the darkness … focused … and had to blink yet again when he saw something he had never witnessed. Even in the murk, he could see a pink glow that had crawled up Casey’s neck to his cheeks. 

“Casey?”

The NSA agent flattened a palm on Chuck’s forehead and gently but firmly pressed him back down into the curve of his shoulder. “Stop taking all the covers, will ya?” 

“I’m not,” Chuck argued sleepily, but he settled into the snug slope again. He felt himself starting to drift off a few minutes later when he jolted at the soft rumble against his cheek. 

“Didn’t think you’d ever own up to it,” Casey said, barely audible. 

Chuck’s head popped up and he squinted at him. “Own up to … what now?”

“You know…” Another stroke trailed down his arm, heating his skin where it touched. “Do I have to spell out everything for you?”

“Um, honestly?” The kid gave him a look that told him he was utterly lost. “Owning up to …?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Being bisexual.”

“Bi –?” Chuck felt himself choke on a mouthful of air as he stared up at Casey with wide eyes. “You … knew?”

“Jesus.” Casey lifted a shoulder against the pillow, a move that distinctly asked, “Hell, who didn’t?”

“Oh, God.” Chuck slumped his head down, resting his cheek on the warm skin of Casey’s chest. “Damn shooting range,” he huffed.

The agent looked at him briefly and pulled the blanket over their legs. “Don’t even wanna know what you mean by that, Bartowski.” He let his hand drop to Chuck’s stomach, and it slid around his waist, pulling him in until Casey seemed satisfied and comfortable. “Go to sleep.”

-x-

“Casey’s apartment … wow.” Sarah lifted her drink, and when her straw hit her cheek, she quickly adjusted it. “No, correction,” she went on. “Casey’s bedroom.” 

“Sarah, you’ve said wow about ten times in the past five minutes. I think a spy who can speak six languages fluently could come up with something a little more –”

“Eleven.”

“Hmm?” 

“I speak eleven fluently. And a few more proficiently at least.” She grinned. “But I never knew anyone who broke the Casey-code. That language. Until now, that is.”

Chuck looked away. Of course, he had only given her the sketchiest of details – the room, the lack of human taxidermy and a gun rack but … to borrow the word of the hour, wow. Idiot. Did he have to blurt out that Casey had dragged him back to his apartment that night? That it only took a simple coax, and large hands that seemed to take control … and the seduction had gone sideways and topsy turvy? 

He blushed furiously as he picked at the last of his dinner. Damn, he needed to get his hands on those pants. Then, this whole interrogation would go away, right? Chuck’s eyes darted in the direction of the table, and he spotted something that caught his attention. The boxers, soft washed flannel that Casey had picked out for him, were crumpled on the empty chair across from Sarah, calling out enticingly. 

Well, that would work. With a nonchalant expression, Chuck plotted to himself while he scraped a clump of mint leaves to the side of his foam container. He could be a spy too, dammit … and if Sarah became distracted, it would just be a matter of –

“Chuck?” The CIA agent gave him a sidelong glance over the top of her drink. 

“Uh, yeah?”

“Don’t even think about it, okay?” she said, coolly taking a sip from her cup. “I would have you pinned to the floor before you even take two steps towards the boxers.” Sarah regarded him with the devil in her eyes as she played with the end of her straw. “And I would take a good long look at this motel room carpet before making the decision to have your face planted in it.”

Chuck set down his fork, assuming an air of innocence. “I’ll have you know I wasn’t even thinking of the boxers – or the pants.” They’re not on the chair with the boxers. Where are they?! “Maybe you’re mind reading abilities aren’t up to Vulcan capacity after all.” Crap! She’s a freaking Jedi! 

“Good. I’m glad you’re willing to go along with it.” She leaned over the table and plucked the boxers out of the chair. “Because we’re not quite done yet.”

“W-we’re not?”

“Really, Chuck?” Sarah gave him a skeptical look. “Do you see your boyfriend yet?” she chuckled. “By my estimation, we still have at least an hour or so before Mister Seduced by a Kiss pops back in here.” 

“Mister – ?” Chuck coughed and cleared his throat. “Sarah, a word of advice. Never say that when Casey is in ear shot. His prickly sense of humor is one thing that has not changed.” Just the thought of it put a sour tang in the pit of his stomach. Not that this was his fault. Oh, no. It was Casey who had left him in the clutches of an inquisitive she-spy. 

“Anyway,” Sarah said. “I’m more interested in what has … changed.”

Chuck peeked towards the door. “I’ve already said enough for him to kill me a dozen times over – in some very creative ways too, I might add.”

“Little overdramatic, don’t you think? I mean, really, as if he would hurt you?” Sarah folded up one of the empty bags. “Seriously, did you think I would ask you ask you about – well, – ”

“Oh, God. Please no. Don’t say it.”

“That, okay?” Sarah raised her brow at him while she wiped her hands on a napkin. “You have that adorable blush going again, by the way.”

Turning to the side, Chuck hid his face by pretending to rearrange the blanket at his feet. “There’s a point here, and I wish you would make it.”

“Fine,” she said. “Yes, I have a point. I’ve got to know. Don’t take this the wrong way, but what in the world is it like being in a relationship with John ‘Shoot ‘em first, ask later’ Casey? I mean, that has to be –” She stopped for a second, tongue-tied. “Unpredictable?”

“You could say that, I guess.” Chuck licked his bottom lip. “It can be … maybe a little crazy at times.”

“I bet.” She smiled, tracing her finger along the lid of the cup. “Okay, what can you tell me about your cuddly … partner. Does he ever, I don’t know, do nice things for you, or take you out to dinner? I can’t picture him being the romantic type, or …?”

“Well, no, I wouldn’t say romantic is the first word that comes to mind,” Chuck said, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “Unless requisitioning non-lethal ammunition for me counts as romantic?”

Sarah choked on a small chunk of her baba ganoush. “Ammo? He got you ammo?”

“He’s a charmer,” Chuck said. “I take it that that would be a no to the ammunition and the whole romantic question, huh?” He balled up the take-out bag and shot a basket from the bed. “Two points,” he nodded, as confidently as a man hiding his naked ass under a cover could muster. 

“Well?” Sarah casually picked up the boxers and twirled them on the end of her finger. “Still waiting, Chuck."

“Are you serious?” The kid scratched the back of his neck as he thought about it. “You want to know what it’s like? What he does that’s, well … something a normal boyfriend would do?” 

“Well, as normal as it can be, you know, considering he’s Casey.” The boxers made another swirl in the air before she grabbed them in her fist mischievously. “You do remember the other part of the bargain?” 

Narrowing his eyes at her, Chuck pulled the blanket over his bare chest. “That doesn’t work with me anymore, Sarah,” he said stubbornly. “I mean, really, how could I be more embarrassed than –”

“How, you ask?” Sarah gave him the once over, and moseyed over to the bed. Leaning down until her eyes were level with his, she cupped his knee through the blanket and gave it a little squeeze. “You really want to know…?” 

Stubbornness dissolved into a wave of panic. Oh, shit. Sarah was dead serious. “He, well, –”

“Yes, Chuck.” Another squeeze and a tug of the cover.

“He … he surprises me! That’s it. With, you know, unexpected things.”

“Surprises, you say…” A perfectly shaped brow climbed up her forehead. “That seems rather ambiguous. What kind of surprises?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget it.” Chuck plucked her fingers off his kneecap one by one. “You’ll just have to use your imagina – you know what, never mind that part.”

“Casey likes to spring surprises on his man, hmm?” She tapped his cheek and tucked a lock behind his ear teasingly before Chuck could swat her hand away. “Huh. He just doesn’t strike me as the surprise type.” A smile brightened her face. “That’s sweet, actually.”

Sweet. Chuck leaned back against his pillow and heaved a breath. Sure, he could think of eleven billion other adjectives to describe Casey’s surprises, but sweet? 

Not so much. 

-x-

“God dammit, quit your squirming. It’s me, Bartowski.” Thick arms tightened around his middle, nearly sending Ellie’s roasted scampi with asparagus tips back up into his throat. Warm lips and a husky voice were at his ear. “Good thing I wasn’t a Fulcrum agent. Fuck … what were you gonna do next, slap me?”

“Mmph!”

Casey shook his head, maybe figuring he wasn’t going to get more of an answer unless he removed his meat hook from Chuck’s mouth. “Keep it down, will ya’?” he warned. “Don’t need your sister running out here.” The steely hold loosened, and the rigid hand squeezed down once as a quiet threat before sliding off the kid’s face.

“What … was that?!” Chuck eyes flared open as he stumbled backwards. “Are you nuts?! Do you have to keep doing that with your hand? What the hell is this about, anyway?!” 

“I could’ve thrown you in the back of a trunk by now, kid,” Casey told him from the shadows. “Why didn’t you put up a fight?”

“I was fight – I knew it was you, that’s why.”

Casey smirked, tacking on a grunt to emphasize his disbelief. “You … knew, eh?”

Unbelievable. 

Getting Intersected by your ex-best friend and traitorous college roommate had nothing on this lofty level – the freaking pinnacle! – of weirdness his life had become. Because at ten p.m. on a Tuesday night, next to the garbage dumpster outside of Ellie’s apartment, Chuck’s newish boyfriend had jumped out of the shadows of the carport and grabbed him from behind. 

Face facts. Life was infinitely more complex now that he was, well, kind of dating the country’s number one lethal assassin. 

Chuck folded his arms over his chest, pointing his most menacing stare at Casey. Okay, maybe he was wearing pajama pants and a Yoda t-shirt, but hey, he did have a shred of dignity. “I don’t believe this,” he said, turning his head to the ground. The shrimp shells and miscellaneous trash were scattered everywhere. “Can’t you just say hi or call or do something normal? I’m not an insurgent compound, you know! You can’t just rappel the stone walls and bust in and take –”

“What. You afraid of a little infiltration by chopper, Bartowski?” Casey chuckled softly and glanced down at the ripped garbage bag and seafood remnants. “Suppose … there aren’t any leftovers?”

“Are you … kidding me? You grabbed me outside of the dumpster at bedtime because you had a craving for Ellie’s broiled shellfish?” 

“Heh. No, but … thought I’d ask since I got you out here.” Casey stepped out of the shadows, and Chuck got his first real good look at him tonight. Black polo, dark jeans, worn leather boots … nice. He felt his muscles, tense since the grabbing incident, begin to loosen just a little. “I noticed it on the surveillance tonight,” Casey went on. “It looked … good.”

Chuck stepped forward a pace, then two. “You were watching us? And hell, what am I saying? Of course you were.” On top of everything else, he was feeling a little violated by that. His new – whatever he was – had twenty-four seven coverage of his life. “So, wait a minute. You jumped me because –”

“Hell, no,” Casey replied. “Made fish tacos in chipotle cream sauce. Spicy jalapeño and cheddar rice on the side.”

Chuck gaped at what he thought he heard. “You… really do … like to – you mean, in the kitchen?” 

“No, in the shitter.” Casey snorted. “Jesus.”

The sarcasm was lost on the kid. His brain dished up a vision of Casey wearing that particularly tight polo while working over the stove with seasoned mahi-mahi. “Fish … tacos … wow, I love ... with the little bit of … Really?”

“Keep it down, will ya?” Casey darted a look towards the parking lot and shifted restlessly on his feet. “Someone’s gonna hear you.”

“No, we’re fine,” Chuck said. “Devon will think it’s the raccoon climbing into the trash.” He took a quick look towards his sister’s apartment – which gave him the opportunity to bite down on the inside of his mouth, stopping the smile that threatened to break out like a beam of sunshine. 

Wow. Casey really does know how to cook. 

The smile faded, though, when he turned around and followed the trail of shrimp shells and garbage that had scattered along the cobblestone walkway, thanks to his handler grabbing him outside in the dark.

What the hell, Casey.

Curiosity blended with the leftover panic of being snatched from behind, but after half a minute, Chuck deliberately folded his arms over his chest and stretched to his full height. “Explain,” he said.

Casey angled his head at the challenge, considered it for a moment before strolling up to Chuck, standing close enough for him to feel that daunting heat of his skin. “I was listening to the surveillance tonight.”

“Oh.” Chuck looked to the side and cleared his throat.

He felt a very real sense that what he meant was uh-oh.

“So, kid?” 

“Well.” It was a bit uncalled for, but his reflexes kicked in, and Chuck felt one bare foot slither backwards just a bit. “I have a perfectly good explanation.”

“Can’t wait to hear it.” The street lamp sent a splash of light over the side of Casey’s face, and Chuck could see the agent’s eyes drift down, seeming to look at his lips for a moment. He meandered in a step, effectively filling the distance the kid had put between them. “I thought you said tonight,” Casey told him evenly. 

Okay, yes. Now that they were – dating? – perhaps Casey had a valid point. Chuck should cough up some type of a justification. “Um,” was the first think that he could think of.

“Fuck.” Casey’s squint deepened. He sauntered another step closer. “That it?”

“Well, I sort of … maybe ….” Maneuvering himself away from the corrugated steel dumpster, Chuck leaned against one of the carport pillars and tipped his head back, glancing up at the night sky. He exhaled in complete surrender. “I know, I know, okay? I said I would tell her and I chickened out,” the kid said. “But in my defense, this isn’t exactly the easiest chat to have with your sister. I mean, how do I approach that, really? Hey, sis, I know that when Sarah was here, you thought that maybe someday … but guess what? You know our neighbor, John Casey? The same guy I share a ride with everyday? Well, Ellie, we’ve decided to share a lot more than that. How about this? We share secrets, firearm lessons, and oh, I should mention we shared his king-sized –” 

“– She knows.”

“– bed, and Ellie? Someday, I might just – what?” Chuck’s head snapped in his direction, eyes searching Casey’s face frantically for an explanation. “What do you mean … she knows?” he said stiffly.

“She knows. Simple as that.”

Is this what it was going to be like to have a conversation with his new – what should he call him four days into this? New friend? Boyfriend? 

Faced with a much bigger issue, Chuck bunched his brows together, giving him a confused look. “Again, explain.”

“I told you, I listen in through the surveillance.” Casey shrugged. “So, I heard her. She knows.”

Chuck closed his eyes and pushed a hand through his hair. “Okay, let’s try this again,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “When I ask a question, it would be helpful if you could give me more than a freaking two word answer. Can you be more cryptic? Can I have a time, a place? What did she say?”

“You wanna know, Bartowski? All right.” A lazy grin slid onto Casey’s face. “Your sister was talking to Devon the other night. When you left the room.”

Chuck winced. “You’re loving this part obviously. Continue.” In the back of his mind, he realized he should be alarmed that something in this conversation was amusing to his new boyfriend. 

Oh, God. Chuck had just clearly labeled Casey as his boyfriend. In his head – but still. 

“She told Devon that you were acting odd lately.” Casey sized him up from bare feet to dark curls. He smirked. “That it reminded her of your infatuation with Mister Brooks in eighth grade biology.”

“Oh my God oh my God…”

Casey moved to stand directly in front of him, close enough for Chuck to get a whiff of the raw masculinity that seemed to cling to the agent – and hit the kid at the worst possible times. Like now. Chuck could feel his pulse quicken when he saw the loose smile take a turn, becoming this side of lewd. “So,” Casey said, “you like to look at my ass, Bartowski?”

“What?! I – mmmph!”

“Not gonna move my hand unless you promise to stop squealing. Got it?” Casey leaned in, his chest pressing against Chuck’s thin well-worn t-shirt. He could feel every bunch and roll of muscle and flesh as Casey moved his shoulder to hold him still. “Your sister told Devon that she saw you,” and he stopped to laugh softly, “checking out my ass when I picked you up for your ride to work.”

“Mmmph!”

“You done freaking out?” Casey breathed against his ear. 

“Mm-hmm.”

Just to be safe, Casey eyed him for a second or two and then moved his hand, giving him a sly look. “I woulda let you get a good close-up without having to –”

“She saw that? She knows! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew you would react like this.” Casey folded his arms over his chest. “Besides, you were going to talk to her, so why should I say anything? But now,” and he tipped his head slightly in the direction of Ellie’s apartment, “since you didn’t talk to her, I thought maybe you’d appreciate it that I didn’t come through the window and grab you.”

“Grab me? Why does there have to be grabbing?” Chuck said, gauging Casey with a wary expression. When he saw the agent giving him the “what’s your problem?” look, he groaned in frustration. “This is crazy,” Chuck mumbled, beginning to pace alongside the Vic, sitting in her usual spot under the carport.

“Yeah, thought so,” Casey said under his breath. “That’s my fucking appreciation.” 

Dragging his fingers through his hair again, Chuck walked tip to stern of that mother ship while Casey watched him like a crazed ping pong ball. “Can’t we just do things the normal way – whatever that is – when we want to see each other?” he sputtered. “Isn’t that what other coup – uh, people like us do? I mean I’m a little new at –”

“That’s it. Enough of this shit.” Casey rounded on him, and before he could blink, Chuck found himself wedged against the Vic with a very large man crowded in front of him. A bulky thigh nudged his legs apart, and Casey settled into the space between them. Unyielding and insistent. “Stop your damn pacing, eh?”

Oh, crap. Now what? This was tight … and, truthfully, kind of hot. 

“You could just ask, you know.” Chuck stifled a shudder as he felt Casey move his thigh. Oh, that felt so … maybe this was a cue to change the topic away from his sister. The kid twisted his hand free and touched Casey’s arm. “Uh, you never did tell me,” he started, attempting to bring his legs together, but Casey simply pushed in harder. “Oh. Well, anyway, did you like the p-pastrami and Swiss with coleslaw that I brought you today?” 

Casey eyed him wordlessly, and after a few seconds, he used his position and bulk to slowly lean in, forcing Chuck’s back to meet the hood of the Vic. The kid stared up into gleaming blue eyes and gave him an uncertain grin. “I take that as a y-yes. Maybe tomorrow I could – ah – bring you –”

Oh, hell. Just do it, he told himself. You know you want to.

Curling his fingers into Casey’s shirt front, Chuck lifted his head and pressed his lips tentatively to his. Soft and warm, a gentle glide of his tongue along Casey’s bottom lip. Only enough to let him know that he wanted to get kissed right back again. 

Well, Casey got the message. Bringing his hands up, he cupped the kid’s jaw, fingertips pressing in lightly at the hinge in a move designed to get him to open his mouth. When Chuck complied, Casey slipped his tongue in, taking a deep long taste of him, exploring with a silky demand. Chuck sagged into the hood of the car, feeling a flicker of apprehension at being held down and kissed like this. But the kid opened up under Casey, let himself feel the movement of his lips, slow and deliberate over his. Damn, on top of everything else, the man could kiss, too.

His muzzy brain could barely process a thought, but right about then, Chuck felt a forceful hand grip him around the waist. The slide of fingers went down to the hem of his tee and lifted, dragging up inside his shirt over bare skin. Kneading the slope of his chest, digging into his lean muscle, leaving a balmy path under his rough touch. 

Casey found the nub of a nipple and brushed it with his thumb, and Chuck couldn’t help it, he whimpered into his mouth. It felt good, all of it did. Being held down like this over the hood of the Vic wasn’t awkward or clumsy, and he didn’t want it to end – at all. The way Casey took control of the kiss, persuasive and demanding … it was damn easy to just let himself get caught in up in it; let it draw him in like a riptide, swirling danger and strength cresting under the surface. 

What was that? …. Oh … either Casey had changed things up with the SIG, or that was a hard on pressing into Chuck’s crotch. Discreetly, because he could be discreet when duty called, Chuck let his hands skim around Casey’s waist, along his waistband and over his broad back. Well, there’s the handle of the SIG in the usual spot, so ….

What the hell? Casey couldn’t just come out here and grab him every time he got a hard on! Treat him like he came in the convenient carry-out package? But if there was any lingering doubt as to what the agent was carrying in his pants, he cleared that right up by grinding down hard into the front of Chuck’s thin cotton pajama pants, using one hand to pin his hips against the hood of the car. 

Chuck moaned and had to close his eyes at this. At first, natural resistance made the kid push back and arch his hips up into him, but in the time it took for Casey to swish back and forth one more time, the resistance turned into a slow rub. 

“Yeah, now you got it,” Casey murmured against a mess of dark waves. With the friction centered on his lower belly, he pressed in, grinding slow and thorough a few more times. 

Chuck felt his cheeks flaming as logic warred with an achy need. They were in a parking lot, for God’s sake. Another smooth and steady stroke swept over his rumpled up sleep pants and he knew Casey had no intention of stopping.

Why should he? It was too incredible to stop.

His fingertips clenched into the meat of Casey’s shoulders, and Chuck buried his face into the curve of his neck. “…oh sh – …” he whispered hoarsely against the bare skin at his collar. “Casey… this is …we shouldn’t– ” 

The agent replied with one long scrape of his stomach muscles across the front of the pants. Every inch of him stirred, and there was no longer a secret hiding behind the thin fabric of his cotton drawstring bottoms. As if Casey was reading his mind, he brought a palm down, easing between them, and stroked his knuckles up Chuck’s length along the outside of the pants. 

Thank God for those hands and the fact that cotton was no barrier for a good piece of wood. Chuck groaned against Casey’s neck, letting him grate his hips – just one more time before going back inside, right? 

“… the sandwich you brought me?” Casey asked in a scratchy voice, his lips grazing the edge of Chuck’s ear. “Yeah, matter of fact, it hit the sweet spot, Bartowski.” The Sweet Spot was emphasized with a delicious grind that made the kid forget about hiding under the carport on a Tuesday night, being pinned down in the shadows. “Thought I might … return the favor.” Another excruciating drag followed, and Chuck inhaled sharply at the direct contact over his cock. “Hmm?”

“Oh. I see …” A small semblance of rational thought had edged back into Chuck’s consciousness, and he pulled free from the larger man with one softer kiss and a half-murmur of protest against his neck. Wrapping his fingers around Casey’s wrist, Chuck steered it away from his pants and angled his head to make eye contact. “Maybe, uh, we should, you know, talk about –”

“Really, kid? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, talking is the last thing we should be doing.” Casey tugged his hand out of Chuck’s grip and slipped it down the front of his loose pajama pants, fingers skidding through the coating of hair before gliding down the shaft.

“Ca – ” Chuck gasped, reaching down to find that wayward hand again. 

“See, Bartowski?” Casey dropped a wet hot kiss on his partially open mouth. “Even you know it’s time to shut up. C’mon, rendezvous upstairs. Pronto,” he added with a tap on his thigh.

“Rendez –? What – ?” Chuck put his hand on Casey’s shoulder. “I can’t. I mean besides the fact that you’re not exactly a feather weight and I can’t move, but Casey, I just can’t. I haven’t talked to Ellie yet.” The kid wriggled uncomfortably under him. “She’s going to be looking for me. How can I just disappear for the night? Seriously, there aren’t a lot of places I can go where she won’t –”

“Fine,” Casey broke in. “I’ll let you go in a few hours or so. Tell her you went to Morgan’s to play some idiot games. You’ll be back in bed before morning.” His eyes sparked and he looked furtively towards Ellie’s apartment. Oh, and that look? Horny Casey had been stirred and shaken with a dangerous concoction of Mission-mode Casey. Equal parts power, lust, and stealth. “Let’s move.”

“Let’s move? Wait, are you talking about …?”

Did he say it would take a few hours? Chuck’s mind was instantly splattered with grainy sweat-covered images; some very pleasant memories from their first physical experience … images that made his knees weak. 

Others were blatantly big as hell and damn scary. 

Chuck jerked backwards when he felt a large hand fisting the collar of his sleep shirt. “Move it,” Casey ordered. “Your sister’s half goddamn bloodhound.” 

“But –!” To hell with protocols or manners or whatever else was acceptable behavior in this wildly crazy situation, because the kid felt himself being yanked towards the cobblestone walkway. It took half a dozen steps – or drags – before he managed to dig his feet in. “Wait … Casey … I need to –”

Casey stopped so quickly that Chuck rammed into his back. He slackened his grip and turned to pin Chuck with a look. Ten heart pounding seconds stretched by, and Casey put his hands on his hips. “You got a problem, Bartowski?” 

“No, no, no,” Chuck said quickly. “Nothing like that.” Taking a step back, his hands came up in a placating gesture. “Well, I don’t know how to actually….” Shit. His stomach flip-flopped at the probing glare, and the kid looked away to avoid it. “It’s just that, you see –”

“Because, you see, when you kissed me, I kinda got the impression that –”

“And I do, trust me. I do,” Chuck blurted. “What I’m trying to say, is that I, um … well ….” He heard his voice trail off in an embarrassing gulp. 

Casey tilted his head slowly and blinked at him. Took his sweet-ass time giving him the once over. Finally, he looked down at the ground and dragged his hand over the back of his neck. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Casey closed his eyes and groaned. “For the love of God and duty, sport, tell me you’re lying.”

“Um, well…” Chuck lifted his shoulders and plastered on a wheedling, albeit panicked, grin. “Uh, surprise?”

“Fuck. Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”

Wait a minute. He just sort of told Casey one of his most intimate secrets, and now he’s pissed at him? Tightening his jaw, Chuck took a defiant step forward, bravely venturing into Casey’s space. “I’m sorry this didn’t work into your plans, John.” Chuck crossed his arms resolutely. “I’m sorry I just didn’t announce to you that I’ve never slept with a man before. That this would be my –”

“Jesus almighty. You can put a cork on the sarcasm,” Casey challenged. “Please, in the name of everything holy, tell me there was at least a girl, kid.”

“Jill, of course. I’m not a complete –”

“Just perfect.” Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s L.A. for Chrissakes. How do I get stuck with – eh, fuck me running.” 

“Now just hold on, dammit! I don’t think –”

“Okay, ace, we already said you were slow to the party,” Casey stopped to grunt sardonically, “but you went to college in California, didn’t ya?”

Chuck bristled. “Are you insinuating that the entire state –”

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t your roommates with Bryce ‘The Douche Bag’ Larkin?”

“Well, yes, but what does that have to do with any of –”

“Everybody slept with him, that’s what.” Casey just gave him a look before shaking his head in dismay. “You’re telling me you were with him for four years and not once did he bend you over the desk in the corner of the geek library?”

“No!” Chuck waved his hands and shot a look over his shoulder towards Ellie’s. “And quiet down. My sister’s going to hear you!”

“Never slipped one in from behind when you dropped your Game Cube remote?”

“Game Cu –? Wait a minute, Bryce?” Chuck looked away at the mention of his roommate. Somehow, Casey had seemed to blindly hit on his college puppy crush that he never admitted to anyone, especially not Bryce. “It’s not a remote – it’s a controller and just, no, okay, and leave it at that.” 

Casey growled in annoyance. “… sonova –” With one last squint in Chuck’s direction, he pivoted on his heel and began pacing alongside the Vic in the same path the kid had taken, muttering to himself. The words were muffled, but the kid swore he could hear something about lily white nerds, mingled with a few very creative curses – inventive even for Casey. 

“Let me get this straight,” Chuck said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as watched him stride back and forth a few times. “First you grab me from behind. Then you tell me you wish I would’ve slept with my old college roommate – a man you hate more than liberals, electric cars, and restrictive water boarding policies? Well, confirmed,” he noted dryly. “You can be a little crazy sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, while you’re listing off things I hate, you forgot idiot customers and Jeffster unplugged,” Casey groused, but the hard edge dissipated. Stopping in the middle of his third lap, he turned to Chuck and shook his head. “Did you care to share this bit of Intel, Intersect, sometime before now?”

“What did you want me to say?” Chuck put his hands on his hips. “Hey, Casey, guess what? Guns freak me out, but I’m more worried about the unregistered weapon you carry in your pants?! How does one start that conversation, anyway?”

With an implacable look, Casey stalked close enough for his polo to brush against Chuck’s t-shirt. “Worried?” He snorted. “What the hell … are you worried about?”

Oh. That hit a nerve. “Did I say w-worried?” Chuck inhaled deeply to take the edge off his jitters. 

“Answer the question,” Casey said flatly.

“I’m not really – I don’t think worried is quite ….” Damn, that could've gone better. Fighting a hesitation, Chuck reached up and stuffed two fingers into Casey’s belt loop. He gave it a tug, and heated skin pressed to his, warmed him against the cool night air. The fluttering in his lower belly was back, set off like a flare at being wedged up to Casey like this. 

Casey softened his tone. “Well?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed when Chuck swallowed hard. “In case you’ve forgotten, big guy, I did get a …,” he paused and lowered his voice, “fairly good look at your equipment the other night, okay?” Oh, God, his face was flushing for the millionth time tonight. “And, I’m aware of the mechanics here, hypothetically, I suppose, of what could happen next, and I –”

“Bartowski,” Casey rumbled. “Shut it. Please.” Chuck surprised even himself when he obeyed without question. For a moment, the agent studied him like a science fair project, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He reached out and touched the hem of Chuck’s t-shirt, playing with it between his thumb and finger. “Okay,” he finally said. 

“Okay?” Chuck’s eyes widened. “What does that … mean?”

“Exactly as it sounds,” Casey replied. “Just okay.” 

As much as Chuck wanted to ask for clarification on the single word answer, he realized a second later that it would be redundant. It’s going to be okay, he thought, when a large hand snaked around the back of his neck, and there was a coarse drag of Casey’s thumb delicately over the bare skin at his nape. The agent latched onto his hip, clenching into the flesh to bring him in close enough for their thighs to align perfectly. Still okay. Lowering his head, he shut him up, shut down his train of thought with a slow and moist kiss, ending it with a little nip at his bottom lip. “Kid?” he said.

Slowly, Chuck opened his eyes to focus on Casey’s face. He should’ve been embarrassed that he needed to run his hands down the front of his drawstring bottoms, and that he was softly panting through his mouth at the prospect of a million meanings behind okay, but on the heels of the piercingly sweet kiss, he wasn’t uncomfortable in his skin anymore. “You … you have my attention.”

“Good. Listen to me,” Casey said, measuring each word carefully. “I’m only going to do what you ask me to do, got it? What you want me to do.”

Chuck stared at him, having no control to stop a little sound in his throat. This was going to happen. What he wanted. And because Chuck was new to all things John Casey, he wasn’t sure if there was a way to tell Casey how it felt. That Casey accepted all of his quirks and nerdiness. All of him. 

So, the kid showed him instead. 

On a whim, he slid his hand around Casey’s wrist, encircling it with his fingers, and gently tugged it up to his face. Slipping one finger between his lips, Chuck sucked down on it, letting his tongue twirl around the tip teasingly before biting down, gentle. For one thrumming moment, Casey eyed him like a hawk, watching the tip of his finger being taken into his mouth until Chuck heard him hitch in his chest. Then, the kid let it fall from his lips. “Okay,” Chuck said quietly. “I think I get it.”

Thanks to either the shadows of the carport or the impromptu porn show with Casey’s finger, the agent’s pupils were shot, coal black. “One more thing, kid,” Casey said hoarsely when Chuck dropped his hand.

“Yeah?” Chuck gazed back at the dark pools. “What is it?”

The agent latched onto the kid above the elbow and pulled him in close, giving him a glimpse of the smoky sliver of blue in his eyes. Chuck watched a small quirk lift the corner of his mouth. 

“You’ll ask,” Casey said, his voice low. “You’re gonna want me to do it.”

-x-End Chapter Five Part Four-x-


	9. Chapter Five (Part Five)

Casey vs. the Way Back

(Chapter Five Part Five)

-x-

“I still can’t believe Casey is the sugary-surprise kind of guy.” Sarah stretched her legs out on the other chair at the table and folded her arms over her chest. “He always struck me more as the ‘take no prisoners’ type. Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead, you know?”

“He’s ah – unpredictable,” Chuck stammered, taking an opportunity to glance at the escape route. And he’s also dead meat for leaving him here like this. “Speaking of which, not that this has anything to do with Casey or the current topic of conversation, but isn’t it about time you returned my pants?”

“Getting antsy, Chuck?” The blonde glimpsed down at her watch. “We still have at least another hour before I expect to hear from your boyfriend.” With a devilish look, she reached into one of the bags and pulled out a pair of jeans. Funny. They looked to be of the extra long variety from Chuck’s vantage point. “I’m going to need to know a few more tidbits about your snuggly partner before you get these,” she said, holding them up with a small wave.

“This is amusing to you, isn’t it?” Chuck scowled and hastily tossed his plastic knife down. “Finding out what it’s like to be –” Hooked up with? Hitched to? What is the proper terminology here? He finally settled on something innocuous sounding. “Uh, partnered with the agency’s most lethal attack dog? The man with no heart, the man of many grunts? Is that it, Sarah?”

“Not funny. Just enlightening.” She sat back in her chair and bit down on her lip. “I am taking this seriously, by the way.” 

“Is that why you’re smiling?”

Her smile grew like a ray of summer sunshine. “What else do you have for me? I want to know … Casey’s secrets … his soft spots. Well, besides the obvious one of course.” Sarah’s eyes raked over him teasingly. “You.” 

“Ha. But really? I don’t know, Sarah ….” 

“You know what?” The blonde dramatically rubbed her palms over her upper arms. “I’m getting a little chilly in here. I may need to grab a nice warm blanket.” She pointed a naughty look in his direction. “Know where I can get one, Chuck?”

“Again with the blanket, Sarah? Sheesh.” Outwardly, he acted nonchalant at the implied threat, but he couldn’t quite stop his fingers from clamping down on the cover. “You would think that a worldly spy could come up with alternative means to extract Intel, besides just … annnnd forget I said anything,” he said quickly when her demeanor shifted at the implication that she wasn’t living up to her spy-potential.

“Alternative means, Mister Bartowski?” Sarah took a small sip from her drink, obviously enjoying the squirm her look caused. “That’s an excellent suggestion. You see, when Casey gets back, I was going to ask him – just casually of course – to share some war stories. Find out if he’s ever taken a direct hit in the line of fire? Maybe in the back of a surveillance van …?" Satisfied that she had the kid’s attention, she winked at his gaping expression. "Ever smacked in the kisser by an IED – or unidentified pair of lips, in this case.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Oh, really?” One brow veered up her forehead. “Chuck, let me give you a little history lesson. When I found Casey in Carina’s hotel room cuffed to the bed and wearing only his ‘lucky’ cloverleaf boxers –”

“What!?” He still wears those, too!

“He never told you that story?” Sarah shrugged. “Well, at any rate, I captured that Hallmark moment on my camera phone. So, the moral of this story is, do you really think I would pass up such a juicy opportunity to roast my big bad ass ex-partner?”

“Cuffs?! He was cuffed to her bed? Why didn’t he ever tell me about this?”

“Um, for obvious reasons?” Tilting her head at him, she climbed out of her chair and moseyed over to the bed. “Back to our story. Now, what else can you tell me?”

“What?” Chuck shook his head, stowing away the image of Casey in handcuffs for a later conversation with his boyfriend. “What else is there to say?” Think of something! Anything to get her to back off!

“You heard me. What’s it like to be partnered with Casey? He must have a soft spot under the layers of steel and skunk piss –” 

“Hey! That’s not –”

“Relax, it’s just a figure of speech, but it is utterly cute how you rush to defend him,” she said. “So, tell me.”

“Oh, thanks.” He gave her a dirty look for the off-handed compliment. “Tell you what, exactly? His … soft spot?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She nodded down at him, all mischief in her baby blues again. “I mean, obviously the man is emotionally stilted –”

“What makes you think that’s he’s emotionally stilted?”

Sarah just stared at him with a look that clearly said ‘duh’.

“Okay, okay….” Chuck looked away. “God, I’ll give you that one. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She smirked. “Most of the time?”

“He’s not … he can tune into the emotional turmoil when he wants to,” Chuck replied carefully. “He just chooses not to dial into that signal, I guess. Some people are plugged into Delilah’s Smooth Love station, and some are cemented into, well, FOX news.” He paused. “And you know what? Forget I said anything.” 

“Oh, no you don’t.” With an untrustworthy glimmer, Sarah bent down to look him straight in the eye. “You said it – now you have to finish it. Agent John Casey can tune into his emotions?”

“Well ….” God, could this get more screwed up? Chuck shoved his hand through his hair and blew a breath. “Sometimes, he’s in tune to my … feelings.” 

“Yours?”

“Yes, mine, okay?” Huffing, the kid picked up his fork and stabbed the last lonely piece of wilted lettuce in his take-out container. “And leave it at that.”

His feelings? Perhaps in the most literal sense. Starting with that tumbled up, crazy, passionate night that began behind the dumpster.

-x-

“Let me guess, you worried about your virgin hole, Bartowski?”

Exhibit A, right? 

Okay, it was said in only the blunt yet ultimately colorful way that Casey could say it, without reservation or stuttering like a normal person would utter that sentence.

But nothing about this was normal.

-x-

“You didn’t have to – ow! I don’t know if you noticed, but when we were outside a minute ago, I was planning on coming with you –”

“– Heh. Damn straight you will.”

“– without the snatch and grab!” Chuck paused, and his cheeks flushed a vivid red when his brain finally snapped around Casey’s insinuation. “I think we need to set some ground rules here,” he said, momentarily forgetting the grip on his upper arm and the fact that he was being pulled bodily up the narrow stairs. “You see, grabbing behind the dumpster at my sister’s apartment and dragging in general, now that we’re on the topic? Well, I just don’t think it’s the way to start out a – whatever this is. Maybe there’s a way we can learn to be – oh, and by the way, when I say ‘we’, I mean you – ah!” 

“Watch those damn clumsy feet.”

“Are you listening to me?” The kid’s free hand flailed out and snagged the first thing he could reach … though he couldn’t fathom why his fist was now latched on to the wrought iron handrail …. 

Because without a doubt, he wanted this. Wanted it to happen.

But it wasn’t as though he’d ever done this before. Firsts were scary endeavors in life, and Casey, being an overall terrifying person in general, only amplified the shivers down his body by a thousand. Chuck pulled back on his arm yet again. “Wait a minute, Casey. Please.”

Well, that did it. Two stairs from the top, and Casey stopped dead in his tracks. The agent made a hell of a brick wall too, and for the second time in ten minutes, Chuck rammed into his broad back and stumbled. Only one thing hindered him from toppling down the stairs on his ass.

“Bartowski.” Casey’s hand tightened on his arm and he jerked him back roughly. When he saw Chuck had gained his balance on the tread one stair below, the larger man unfastened his grip, and his face clouded up. “Jesus H. Christ, kid.”

“Why did you –?” Chuck let go of the railing and wiped his hand down the front of his pants. “How did that – uh, nice catch?”

Casey squinted at him. “Look at me,” he said. In a move Chuck didn’t expect, the agent slid his palm down past his elbow, and swished his thumb over the delicate skin on his inner wrist. A caress that didn’t seem forced, or out of place, or scary at all. “Did you hear a damn thing I told you out in the courtyard?”

“Yes, I heard you.” Chuck’s bare feet shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the step, and he blinked up at Casey in the dim stairwell. “You told me … it would be okay.”

Casey surveyed him, his eyes somehow more intense, bluer in the dark. “Heh,” he finally said.

That was the extent of the conversation, evidently. 

With that, he dropped Chuck’s arm and pivoted on his heel, taking the last stairs to the short hallway. Without looking back, he strolled into the bedroom and disappeared, leaving the door half-way open. 

Damn him. Chuck crossed his arms over his chest, watching as a bedside lamp flicked on, dappling the hallway in soft light. Damn him, again. He knew what this was about. Casey had a way of speaking volumes by making a single sound. 

Feeling dragged, Bartowski? Violated your pristine-fake existence? You want it?

You come and get it.

The kid frowned at the door, partly ajar. Swallowing hard did nothing to help the flutter in his stomach muscles. Well, did he want it, did he want more? Large warm hands, insistent touches … did he want to feel his spine quiver when hot, demanding lips – 

The last two steps were behind him before the thought was finished. Yes, granted, the night started in a frightening blindside in the dark, but this was now. This was happening because he wanted it to happen. 

Chuck stood in front of the door, heaved a breath and peeked inside the bedroom. “Hey.” He tried to put on a crooked smile, but he knew the best he could muster up was a shaky half-grimace, one that Casey would see right through. 

Now what?

Glancing over his shoulder coolly, Casey went back to emptying his pockets of a cell phone, his wallet, and a handful of loose coins that clattered onto the tabletop. But Chuck wasn’t paying attention to those things, because he was focused on the rigid, tense muscles he could see in Casey’s shoulders and arms. 

Okay, granted he was a little pissed at having to drag him up there. 

Chuck turned on the high beam. “Sorry,” he said, keeping his voice even, placating. “You know, maybe we should just start over tonight.” His bare feet padded over the hardwood floor, cautiously taking another few steps into the room. “I was just being an idiot, okay? I didn’t mean to give you the impression … but let’s face it. The dumpster incident threw me off my game a little.” 

“Yeah, well, the goddamn Virgin Act threw me off mine, so now we’re even.”

And there it was.

“You’re mad. I get that, I do. But I need you to remember,” and Chuck took another tentative step forward, “it’s not an act, Casey…. For me, it’s my life.”

Casey rolled his eyes, but said nothing to that. 

“So, maybe we can … take it slow tonight?” Chuck offered. “You were right … and I’m asking. Isn’t that what you said in the courtyard?” 

The agent went back to his nighttime routine. Reaching behind his back, he tugged out his SIG Sauer and checked the magazine, making no bones about the fact that he was ignoring him. 

Stubborn bastard. Gazing at that obstinate profile for a moment, Chuck moved in front of the other man, making Casey look at him. “Casey?”

“What do you want now, Bartowski?”

The perfect opening. Before the agent could react, he kissed him hard. In retrospect – and put into terms that Casey would grasp – this kiss could be classified as the stealth fighter of kisses. It came out of the blue, launching a direct hit to the intended target, and pressing in and taking his lips, he kissed away the half-scowl that had worked its way on to his steely features. Chuck poured himself into it, teasing with his tongue, everything in him hot and straining, and everything saying he was sorry for his initial reluctance.

Casey stiffened under his lips. Eyes still open, he didn’t lift his hands to touch him or pull him in closer, no comeback or movement of lips meeting his – and Chuck was hit with the painful reminder of the night in the surveillance van. A kiss with nothing in return. 

Alright. Fine. The kid parted his lips and increased the pressure behind the kiss, turned up the heat and need of his touch. Chuck’s hand came up to Casey’s chest and he curled his fingers in his shirt front, tugging him chest to chest. 

Oh. Right there. It was something between a groan and a feral growl against his lips. In response, the kid brought his hand down, tracing his ribs through his shirt. Well, that finally did it. Target acquired. Because as Chuck started to ease back, Casey dove forward, clamping down on his hips and bringing him back against his body. Then, the agent fed him a slow possessive kiss right back this time. 

After a long minute of being kissed senseless, Chuck pulled his head back and wielded his most potent weapon from his arsenal: plaintive brown eyes, combined with a small smile. “See? I said I was sorry.”

Casey regarded him for a long moment, not letting go of his hips. “Start over, eh?” he said, his tone rusty and low, but then he added, “I could take you back out to the dumpster and jump you again. Is that what you had in mind, kid?”

Chuck coughed and cleared his throat. “While that was an exciting experience that I’ll be reliving in nightmares for quite a while now, I was actually thinking we would fast forward past the whole grabbing from behind scenario … and maybe start here?” Chuck glanced down and brushed his fingers lightly over Casey’s forearm. He wasn’t quite used to this yet, touching him, but why should he be nervous – after what they did four nights ago? Perhaps because it was Casey, and up until now at least, casual touching was strictly in the forbidden column. 

But before he could scold himself for being hesitant, Casey’s arm shot out and took hold of his shoulder, pushing him backwards. Note to self, he thought while his feet slid over the floor: he should make an effort to stop balking when Casey comes at him like a big cat. Maybe it would take some getting used to – with practice. 

“Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?” Chuck asked, bug-eyed. “I thought that we were –”

“You have to ask?” Casey replied, his voice a little rough. A warm palm pushed against Chuck’s shoulder blade, and his thumb traced a circle in the hollow of his neck. “Thought you’d remember.”

Well, here was another thing he was learning about his new … boyfriend. Casey had a fondness for doors, or more specifically, he liked to press Chuck against doors – and it didn’t take an Intersect-laden brain to come to this curious conclusion either, because right about now he felt the stiff ridges of the wood panels digging into his back. 

“Ah. This is cozy, hmm?” Hyperaware that Casey had all the control once more, Chuck squared his shoulders against the door and stared back at him. “Also, it seems vaguely famil – oh.” A graze of lips leaving a soft kiss at the side of his mouth shut him up, and the kid turned his head into it, giving him a burning moist taste of himself in return. Slow and easy, and after a minute, the door was forgotten. “Okay, okay … I see your point,” Chuck said quietly, and feeling his courage kick up a few notches, he ran a palm down Casey’s thigh, feeling the nubby but soft denim jeans. “Maybe I can get used to this.”

“You wanna … get used to it, eh?” Casey asked with steamy confidence, given that he already knew the answer. In a beat, his hand was at the hem of Chuck’s shirt, tugging, and strong fingers went up and under, sweeping along the elastic of his drawstring pants. “Used to this too, I suppose.” Casey slanted his head and the kid felt another kiss, a scrape of stubble at the corner of his mouth.

“That? God, yes….” The kiss started out soft, slow; stealing his breath with a gentle intensity. Chuck felt his bare toes curl. He opened his mouth to gulp air, and the invitation was there if Casey wanted to take it. So, he did. Suddenly, Casey’s tongue was inside, pushing against his, thoroughly exploring him as if it was damn well his right to do it. The kid pushed back, just to feel the slip and moist heat on his own tongue, but he felt himself opening up, sinking into it. So good. Reflexively, he brought his hands up and clenched Casey’s biceps, feeling the swell and roll of flesh under his fingers. 

A warm drag of a callused hand up his stomach forced a flinch, and crazily, he was hit with a blurry memory of the gun range. That night, Casey’s hands were always gripping, steering, moving with precision over his skin, leaving tracks and marks in their path … exactly the same way as tonight.

“Lift your arms,” Casey suggested in the way of an order, and one of his hands worked its way up Chuck’s chest to his shoulders. “Lose the shirt.”

Eerily similar to the first time, but getting stripped by Casey, like this,was something else he can used to. With a half-murmur of agreement, the kid succumbed by raising his arms, giving Casey the right-of-way to tug the t-shirt up and over his head. It only got stuck on his ear one time, but that klutzy move didn’t seem to take Casey off his game. 

“Better,” Casey said, leaving a small bite on his now bare shoulder, moving to his collarbone. “God, we need to get some meat on your carcass.”

“Ellie says I’m naturally skin – ohhh….” Another gentle bite, and Chuck started to close his eyes, but something caught his attention. He glanced past Casey, noticing the window was open to the night air. How easily does sound travel through the courtyard, anyway? What if Ellie had her window open, too –

“God, get that look off your face.” 

“Sorry. Again. And I’ll try to stop saying that, but I was just wondering if – mmmph.” The words were cut off when Casey leaned in to kiss him, to press him firmly to the door, leaving a nip on his bottom lip. Feeling his heart thrumming, Chuck lifted one of his hands to cup Casey’s jaw and took hold of his face. He returned the kiss, hard and deep. To hell with the window, I guess.

His other fist was balled up in Casey’s shirt front, and Chuck decided to even the playing field. Unlatching his grip, he dragged his hand down the slope of Casey’s middle until he felt the bottom hem of the fabric. His fingers coasted lightly up inside his shirt, brushing over his belly and ribcage – and just at the moment he skimmed across the sensitive bare flesh at his stomach, the kid was rewarded with a small tell-tale hitch in Casey’s chest. 

Chuck pulled back. “You know, the ticklish question is still on the table. Every time I touch you right there – mmm.” Jesus. Casey did it again, cut him off with a pair of firm burning lips and sucked on his tongue until Chuck couldn’t stop a broken little noise in his throat. Pleased by this, Casey growled into his mouth and shut him down yet again with his unyielding lips pressed to his.

Not ticklish, huh? Chuck smiled against Casey’s lips … and stored that nugget away in his memory banks for later. 

The delicate ribcage would have to wait, but it wasn’t as if there weren’t other places for his hands. An expansive topography of places to keep his hands busy, exploring. And realistically, Chuck might not have the skill set to quell a rebellion with a pair of rusty hedge clippers and a toothpick, but dexterity with his hands? He had that one covered. 

Bringing his palm down, Chuck splayed his fingers into the flesh of his middle, kneading into the bare skin over the waistband of his jeans, testing and gauging every reaction. Being able to move was a challenge, however, since Casey had him crowded into the door, locked in an open mouth kiss, one that was hot and searching. After a minute flew by, he seriously thought his legs were starting to give out a little. 

“Casey, m-maybe we should –”

“Nuh-uh. Stay there.” Okay, maybe he had felt the jerk of Chuck’s knees, but it wasn’t the reaction the kid had expected. Not that it wasn’t pleasant, and not that it didn’t send a fevered jolt through his limbs, but startling nonetheless – because before the kid could persuade Casey to consider taking this to the bed, the agent’s bulky thigh was shoved between his legs. 

Oh God. It was a far different torment, yet somehow precisely the same as Casey’s maneuver inside the Montebello Training Academy that night. The way he held the reins over the kid’s gawky movements, shifting his unconfident stance as Chuck faced down the target with a gun in his hand. But, this time, Chuck wanted to share the driver’s seat, so when Casey moved his leg in tighter, the kid enjoyed one rub on his inner thigh – and then he pushed back. 

“Heh. Really, kid.” To counter, Casey gave him a solid grind against the fabric of his jeans, a perfect excruciating drag that made Chuck suck in a breath – and backed him further into the door.

“Jesus … Casey.” Okay, maybe the agent wasn’t in the mood to let him take charge.

“You think you wanna push again …?” Casey repeated the grate and thrust, pushing his rock hard dick against Chuck’s lower belly, pressed his lips to the kid’s ear. “Yeah?”

“N-no, I’m good … that’s, ah, good….” 

“Good,” Casey answered with a content murmur, and bowing his head, he moved his lips to a sensitive spot on the arc of the kid’s neck. He bit down until he heard Chuck gasp, and then nibbled, leaving a lick with the tip of his tongue. 

Damn. Forget trying to push then … But Casey’s shirt has got to go. Tilting his head to the side, giving Casey passage to the delicate skin of his neck, Chuck let his hand drop southward, sliding his fingers down until they latched onto the hem of Casey’s polo. He gave it a brusque tug, and got as far as Casey’s ribcage before his fingers were swatted away. 

“Don’t even think about it.” The nip at his neck was firmer, a scrape to the tender skin, and two large hands clamped down on his elbows, pressing them into the back of the door. With the thigh between his legs, Casey’s strong hands pinning him, his teeth working wicked magic on the bare skin of his neck … Chuck couldn’t move. Well, that’s not entirely true, because instinctively, he arched his hips up against Casey each time he used his leverage grind down again. 

“… damn you…” the kid mumbled at another lick under his ear, an extra bump and rub with his leg. 

Fifteen minutes into a make-out session, and there were a few particulars he had learned about Casey tonight. He likes to oversee the action. He may have a ticklish spot on the side of his stomach. Undressing him when he isn’t ready for it is verboten.

Duly noted. 

And this: Casey wanted to draw out the delicious torture, make him whimper when the uncoordinated arching and bumping wasn’t enough. Time passed like this, but finally the hold on his elbows relaxed, and Casey used his free hand to brush the skin below his belly. 

“Drop the pants,” Casey said against his cheek. Not waiting, a couple of his knuckles dragged down, fingers hitching into the elastic band of his cotton sleep pants, and he pulled at them with a grunt. 

Apparently, the undressing rule Casey seemed to hang on to was a one-way street. Not that Chuck was complaining, not the way Casey’s tongue was now nibbling on the sensitive edge of his ear. The kid wasn’t wearing boxers under the drawstring pants – logically, he always thought that would be redundant, right? – so there was nothing in the way of the coarse palms, tugging his pants down his hips, thighs, until they were pooled around his feet.

“Step out.” 

“Ok-ay, then.” Chuck lifted one foot, followed by the other and toed the pants off to the side. “Still seems a little unfair.” 

“Give me your watch.” 

Chuck slipped it off without argument, and Casey disengaged the battery again. Wow. Who knew evading the DNI would be considered foreplay from now on? 

“Now what?” Here he was – bare-chested, now bare-assed flattened against the door. The kid shifted on his feet self-consciously and folded his arms in front of him, as if that would cover his nakedness. “Chilly in here, hmm?” Not really, but he had to say something while Casey’s eyes were traveling over him, his face not hiding a smirk. 

Unbelievable. Yet again, the agent was standing toe to toe with him – fully clothed. 

Okay, no combat boots this time. Progress, but still. 

Before he could open his mouth to argue the point of inequity, Casey was kissing him again, long deep tastes, moving his mouth against Chuck’s – but then he pulled back, just an inch or two and the hungry lips vanished. 

“… hmm?” Chuck mumbled and automatically, he took a wary step forward to keep the contact. Only a moment later, he realized that Casey was directing them away from the doorway. 

“Wanna move away from there…?” Casey asked. “You wanna … follow me?” 

Chuck inhaled though his nose and reached out to steady himself, clinging to Casey’s shirt for balance –the moist insistent kisses and rough hands on his skin were making his head swim. Swallowing his jitters, he heard himself say, “I’m … following.” 

Without thinking, Chuck shuffled his feet to the side – the bed was that way, wasn’t it? But Casey, always surprising, made a move the kid couldn’t begin to understand, and he steered their bodies towards the long, low dresser across from the bed. Not fighting it, Chuck let the larger man push him backwards until the wooden chest of drawers hit him in the rump. 

“Sit down,” Casey said, husky. “Scoot back a little.” Chuck wrinkled his brows and started to speak his piece again, not even certain what the hell he was going to say about being perched naked on Casey’s dresser, but strong fingers clenched into his hips, and with a lift and a light shove, the kid felt his butt settle onto the sleek wood surface. 

“Uh, I have to say that this is not what I –”

“What were you expecting, kid?” Since the sitting position had put Chuck half a foot beneath him, Casey had to incline his head to give him a long lingering kiss. “Remember,” he said. “You have to ask for that.” 

Bastard. Chuck felt his cheeks flaming, but he scooched backwards and tried to get comfortable. “Ask for –? Mmm.”

The next kiss was open mouth again, but dirtier, and Chuck felt his heart pounding even more when Casey used the distraction to wedge his thighs between Chuck’s legs and parked himself between his knees. Well, being like this? The kid couldn’t help it – he felt wide open, exposed in this position. 

Not everyone was feeling that way. Casey was comfortable with the new arrangement. And holy hell. One part of Chuck’s anatomy was also not complaining. Having John Casey hold him to the door and grind down with a perfect friction had sent the blood in his brain straight to his lower extremities. Now, a few minutes later, sitting naked on Casey’s dresser – stark naked for God sakes! – the kid’s penis was right there. Bright red. ‘Little’ Chuck was standing like the good soldier, while Chuck tried not to glance down at his embarrassing and obviously erect cock. Maybe Casey wouldn’t notice, or point out his –

“Heh.” Casey growled. “That’s not askin’.” He brushed his thumb over the crown with a light teasing stroke. “But I like your enthusiasm. I’ll have to remember that,” he said, smoky and low. “You like to change things up, eh?”

“Change things … up?” The only thing that went up was Chuck’s voice – about two octaves. Half due to the rush of vivid images that the meaning of ‘changing things up’ would mean to someone like Casey, and half because Casey sank his head down to lick his nipple. “… oh, my gah – that’s ….” 

“Like that too?” Casey dipped his mouth again, rolling the tiny bead gently between his teeth. Brushed the other with his thumb until the nub raised under his touch. “… yeah, feel that….”

Chuck melted into the awareness of Casey’s teeth closing over his nipple, toying with the impossibly sensitive spot. Shouldn’t he tell him how freaking great that felt? “… do that… do it again….” Uncontrollably, he arched his chest out when Casey obliged … but suddenly those taunting lips were gone.

“Remember the rules?” Casey breathed against his ear, hot breath tickling his neck. “You gotta ask.” At the word ask, he gave him one soft brush of a finger over the bead of his nipple.

“Ask…?” Chuck choked and bit down on his lip. “I’m … oh, God… I’m asking … please, do that again….”

“Begging … nice.” Casey found a spot to gently suck on his nape. “Not required, but I’ll give it to you.” 

Give it. The kid wanted it so badly, but he could only latch onto Casey’s hip with one of his hands, digging in. Wanting the sense that he was controlling something. Casey lowered his head, left a drag of his tongue over his nipples, painting a long wet stripe over his belly….

“Thinking about it, huh?” Casey asked, sucking on his flesh, going over his middle, tasting every tender slope and curve. Reaching down, his thumb swirled around the crown of his shaft, his lips followed in its path. “You want this?” 

Chuck’s head landed against the framed mirror behind him with a thump. “God, Casey… that’s ….” 

“Like this, kid…?” Casey opened his mouth and drew him in slow, sucking and savoring him. Tongue looping around the head, down a few inches and up again. Making deliberate and easy swishes ….

“… guh … Je – yes ….” Chuck inched his bare ass forward on the top of the dresser, sliding across the cherry wood veneer as close as he could to the edge. He was dying to get closer still, get more of that mouth around him and over him. Bucking up, his thigh muscles strained forward to meet Casey’s lips. “… c’mon … Casey… oh, shit.” The kid drew in a sharp intake of breath as Casey brushed his cheek against his length, then cupped his mouth and wet him crown to balls, sliding up and back down.

This wasn’t the wet deep head of four nights ago; this was a searing leisurely slide of lips and tongue, loose and careless. Enough to take him closer to the brink, but not the giddy push he needed to release his pent up ache. 

But unthinkably, Casey was pulling back and standing up. Staying wedged between Chuck’s thighs, he put his hands on either side of him and stared down, licking his bottom lip “Should I keep going, kid?” he asked, leaning in to suck on the bend of Chuck’s neck. 

A ragged sound rumbled in Chuck’s throat, part plea, and part frustration. Just when he was sure he was going to shatter, Casey had stopped? The kid tipped his head up and blinked at him, eyes sex-glazed. Okay. He needed to hear it, needed to hear Chuck ask for it. 

“Keep going? C-Casey, keep doing that. You have my p-permission –”

Like a ramrod, Casey’s broad shoulders squared back, suddenly on high alert. “Your… permission?”

Holy fuck and note to self, rolled into one. If that look was any indication, never use the word permission with John Casey. Only if he never wanted to feel that wet perfect mouth on his cock again. 

“My bad,” Chuck said quickly, reaching out to run his hands over Casey’s biceps. “Not the word that I intended …. I just thought that you wanted to hear –”

“So, this means you’re askin’?” Casey ducked his head and sought his mouth, giving him one urgent fiery kiss. The kid felt him clench his knees when he ended it. “You want that?” 

“Just … yes, okay?” Chuck rested his head on the mirror. “… want it, Casey….”

That worked. A slow grin eased its way onto his face. Asking for permission was forgotten. Leaning in for a quick wet kiss, Casey pulled back with a sly look and wasted no time sinking straight down on him. 

“… oh … fuck … that’s –” Chuck flushed at the sound of his voice ... that Casey could make him so brazen. 

A maddening loop of tongue and mouth over his crown sent Chuck scooting forward again, ineptly trying to lift his hips higher. Get closer. One more long drag of Casey’s lips, and Chuck’s hands few out blindly, needing to grab onto something to steady himself. And in a flash, he knocked a small carved tray and sent it sliding over the top of the dresser. 

“Oh, crap!” Chuck tried to stop it, but dammit, he couldn’t move fast enough, and it slipped through his fingers. The kid winced as he heard it crash to the floor.

“… the hell?” Casey’s head popped up and he rose to his full height, eyeballing the mess. Bending forward, the kid caught sight of a watch, coins, and a few stray bullet casings scattered over the hardwood floor. 

“My God, let me get that.” Chuck started to spring up from his seat, apologies spilling out of him. “Sorry, so sorry! Have I said that enough tonight?”

He didn’t know how Casey would react to having his belongings upended, but the larger man just looked at him, and putting a hand on his chest, Casey gently pushed him back onto the dresser. “Every ops got collateral damage, kid,” he chuckled. “Get it later.” 

“Hope I didn’t break … anything?” Chuck watched in curiosity to see Casey bend down and retrieve the steel watch with chunky but clean-lined links. Holding the timepiece up to examine it, his eyes softened, and after a few seconds, he flipped it around and set it on the far end of the dresser, well out of Chuck’s wing span.

That look in his eyes. It was something real, something from his past. Chuck made a mental note to ask about the watch. Intimate knowledge would be more than taking him to the sack, he told himself. It may take time, but Chuck would get answers. He’d get those fuzzy blanks filled in.

“Try not to destroy the place, eh, kid?” Casey said, dragging his knuckles down his bare thigh. “Would hate to have to cuff you the bed.”

Cuffs – what the hell? Didn’t he say something about cuffs the other night as well? Whoa. Chuck shook his head at the picture behind his eyes, and looked up at him sheepishly. “I feel really terrible about that, especially the watch … because I can tell it means a lot to – shit.”

Oh, he so did that on purpose. Right when the topic of his life before Burbank was ripe for the asking, Casey shut it down by using that skilled tongue of his, cupping Chuck’s length from tip to balls. 

The last functioning brain cell in his head told Chuck not to swing out gawkily this time. Instead, he made himself grip the edge of the dresser with tight fists, and his head fell back lightly to the glass again. Oh God, oh God …. If he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, this night is going to be …. Think, think….

“Casey.” Chuck put his hands on the agent’s shoulders and used the leverage to slide backwards. “I’m asking … please take off your shirt.”

The agent stilled at first. An eon stretched between them, but at last he slowly stood up, and Chuck saw a lazy quirk slide onto his mouth. “You’re asking, huh?” he said, scratchy. Leaning in, he brushed his wet lips along the angle of Chuck’s jaw. “You want that?”

“Well … yeah?” Chuck gave him a disarming smile and touched the hem of his shirt. “Do you … mind? I mean last time, it was a little … and now, this time, I’m still sitting here like this, and –”

“Shut it,” Casey broke in, his eyes focused on Chuck’s face, and he lifted his hands from his hips. “Take the shirt.”

The victory was twofold; one, it’s obvious. He gets to touch his muscled chest, run his fingers over the swell of his pecs. Two, he was going to make it a very abbreviated night if Casey kept that up. 

So, just like that, Casey let him do it. Tossing aside the shirt, Chuck rested his back against the mirror and attempted a leer, though he was sure it came off half-nerdy. “Uh, why stop there?” Long legs were useful at this stage, because after having his top removed, Casey had stepped away from the dresser – which only forced Chuck to hook his ankles around Casey’s hips and yank him in close again. “My arms aren’t quite that long, so you’ll have to come here.”

Trying to move Casey was like trying to relocate the Death Star. At the first attempt with his feet, the larger man just squinted at him, but after a second or two of tugging, he gave him a look and finally, Casey let him do that, too, and he ambled up to the dresser again. 

“I take it,” the agent rumbled, “that this is your way of askin’?” 

More like begging, Chuck thought, but hey, if it got the pants off, sure. “That was most definitely an ask,” he told him. “I’m a quick study, and I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

“Quick study?” Casey snorted, reaching for the top button of his jeans. “We’ll see.”

Chuck’s heart rate managed to kick up a few more notches. Look at him. The kid sat back against the mirror and watched, letting his legs drop, but keeping his eyes pinned dead ahead. Another first this week. Casey was taking off his clothes for him, but not lying down. Standing right in front of him.

When Casey stripped off his clothes so thoughtlessly – and hell, look at him, why would he be otherwise? – well, that confirmed it after the first time. God did hand him a heaping platter of huge everywhere. Not that Chuck felt depleted in that department – more than adequate – but, really, that just was not normal. Or fair. 

Naked, but not really giving a damn, Casey sauntered up to the dresser and wedged himself between Chuck’s legs again. “What else are you asking for?” he said. 

Chuck angled his head up, relishing the feel of the cool glass behind his shoulders, the one thing keeping him from combusting. He chuckled, a little uneasy with this territory. “I … I suppose if we dusted off the ol’ NSA manual, this would be violating about two dozen more of those rules in the Asset-Handler section. Probably not to this level of specifics, since I doubt even our government would’ve envisioned the present scenario, but –”

“Scoot your ass over.” Peering down at him, Casey nudged one of his thighs. “This way.” 

“Scoot?” Chuck furrowed his brows, staring up at him for a long moment before inching his butt over the top of the dresser. “I guess I can – why do I –?

“Do me a favor,” Casey said, sidestepping a foot or two. “Try not to tip anything over this time.” 

“It’s a little awkward like this, in case you haven’t noticed.” Chuck frowned. “Maybe we should –”

“You should lift your legs.”

“Hmm?” By now, the kid was totally baffled. He was already sitting on his bureau, completely bare-assed, and now Casey was dishing out more orders. Chuck gazed up at him. “Do what now?”

“Jesus, Bartowski, do something with those long ass legs.” Casey tapped the side of his thigh again. “Bend your knees, will ya? I need to get in this drawer.” Jiggling the handle, he began to pull the drawer out, and the kid felt it nudge his knees. “Heels up.”

Without waiting for him to comply, the door slid open, and Chuck had no choice but to lift his legs out of the way. Shifting back, he bent his knees and rested his bare heels on the edge of the dresser. “You could learn to ask a little nicer or explain things, you know.” Chuck watched as Casey dug around under his boxers and socks for something without looking up. “Maybe we could work on your conversational skills? You know, if we’re gonna be ….” His voice trailed off. Going to be what? 

Casey grunted, one with a hint of “Don’t bet your ass on that, kid.” Finding whatever it was that he had been searching for, he pushed the drawer shut with his hips. He narrowed his eyes at Chuck’s bewildered face and wedged himself between his legs again. 

“What were you looking for anyway? Maybe some Uno cards or a chess set?” Chuck dropped his gaze to his feet, gracelessly hanging off the dresser. “Am I boring you, Mister Handler?” Grinning, the kid stretched his toes and began bringing down his knees, but with a quick grab, Casey clamped his hands around his ankles and held them in place. 

“In a hurry, kid?” he breathed, lowering his head until Chuck felt warm breath, then lips against his ear. “Want you to stay like that.” 

Stay like … this? Looking up at him, the kid swallowed hard. He was no dummy. If sitting on the dresser naked made him feel just a little bit exposed, well, this position magnified it by a thousand. He straightened and tried to inch back, but no dice there; it was freaking impossible with his legs bent up to his chest. And oh God, why now? Looking down, his cock was front and center, so stiff that the kid had to close his eyes and breathe to ward off the tremor running through him. But that wasn’t all of it. In this position, his – yeah, that place ….with his knees up – was now out in the open. There for the taking.

Wait. Did he just think that? 

A sharp click drew his attention to the small plastic bottle in Casey’s hands. “Too tiny for the chess set,” Chuck blurted with a panicked smile. “And the deck of cards, really … if you think about it, they would be –” He managed to stop abruptly. “Sorry. Nerves. I’ll try not to – because I know it bothers you when – oh, look. It comes in the convenient pump bottle now … well, I always thought it came in the little tubes with the –”

“Hey.” Hearing one word said more pointedly than anything in the past thirty minutes made his head snap up, looking away from the pair of hands effortlessly slicking a few fingers. Casey leaned down so that he was right in Chuck’s face. “Listen, kid, I would tell you to relax but –”

“But that doesn’t work, I know,” Chuck cut in. “In fact, telling someone to relax usually has the opposite effect.” He clutched the dresser top and wriggled back another inch. “Funny, but my sister used to tell me to relax, before a date – not that I had many of those – or before a big test when I was in high school so I wouldn’t blow it because I needed to get a scholarship –”

“Fuck.” Casey glanced over to the window and shook his head. “You really think now is a good time to talk about your overprotective big sister?”

“You think Ellie is overprotective? I would say it’s more –” 

Casey rolled his eyes and broke off the protest with a hot and thorough kiss. This was all Casey. One hand squeezed down on Chuck’s ankles, not enough to hurt, but sufficient to keep them planted there on top of the dresser. With a coaxing sweep of his tongue over Chuck’s bottom lip, Casey silently told him he wanted to take his mouth. That took no thinking. Of course he would give it to him. Chuck parted his lips, and Casey pressed in, slipping his tongue past them, warm and slow in a long caress of lips and tongue. He took his time, exploring to a depth that left a trail of clawing need, until he pulled a groan out of the kid…. 

… And then with no warning … there was a touch he had never experienced … a brush to his rim, a small prodding…. 

“Gah! … sonova …!” Immediately and without thinking, Chuck lurched backwards on the dresser top, and his back slapped against the mirror, sending it rattling and swaying on the hook like a drunken sailor. “Sorry!” 

There was no doubt about it: the piece of glass hanging on the wall behind him was going to be toast by the end of the night if Casey did that one more time. 

Deliberately, Casey pulled back to just look at him as he waited for the mirror to stop shaking. Then, he bent over the kid and pressed in with an unhurried kiss, lips sliding, and teeth gently nipping.

“… oh, G – Casey…” Chuck mumbled into his mouth. “Are you –?”

“Remember, kid?” One finger stroked gently at his entrance, going in just a fraction of an inch before withdrawing, tracing the sensitive spot with his finger tip. Testing it. “Only things that you’re gonna want to have happen again and again … you got that?”

“Yes,” Chuck managed, breathing out. He leaned his head back on the mirror and felt his toes curl up again. “Y-you can do that ….” 

“Want it?” Casey’s deep voice slid like velvet around his body. “Or, let me guess, you’re gonna save that virgin hole for your wedding night?” 

Chuck tipped his chin down and tried to scowl at him, but holy Christ, scowling was just not possible with Casey sliding his fingertip just inside the ring of muscle, past the tight pucker. Teasing him, enticing him to slacken the stiffness with gentle thrusts, in and out. 

“Yeah, that’s good … you like it.” Slow and steady, applying even pressure, Casey’s finger went deeper each time, letting him get used to it. With his fingers lubed and slippery, Casey pushed in just enough to convey the gratification that was waiting for him if he was willing to take it. “You want more?”

“Oh. That’s … shit.” A sudden bolt of pleasurable fear caressed his skin, but he wanted more. The kid replied by bringing his hips up in a jerk and back down on Casey’s finger, letting him thrust deeper into him. “Yeah, do –” 

“Gonna ask for it?” Casey bit down on his ear lobe, rolled it between his teeth. 

“Ca –” But the word died when Casey slid in two knuckles deep. “… fuck….” Chuck muttered, and slumping back on the mirror, he spread his thighs wider to give Casey the access he was intent on finding. Another gentle prod, more of his finger, and Chuck felt his breath catch. “… keep … going. More.” His voice had gotten throaty, making him flush at his demand. 

But to hell with embarrassment. This felt incredible. Opening himself up, Chuck closed his eyes in complete surrender at the bliss of being finger fucked by Casey.

“More?” Casey kept his lips grazing his jaw. “‘Cause I only want to give you what you want, kid.” By now, his finger was buried into his vulnerable entrance, and on the off chance Chuck’s mind was still capable of coherence, Casey cupped his balls and squeezed lightly. “And I can give you more….” To show him, Casey gently rocked the finger inside of him, sent a wave of tension shuddering through his limbs. 

“God ….” Chuck moaned in a voice that sounded strange even to his ears. It was hungry, wanton. On the other hand, he didn’t care. Not when Casey could coax him into acquiescence with one probing finger. Once more, a little deeper, and the kid felt his body coiling into a taut rope on the cusp of snapping. “That’s so … mmmph.”

“Yeah?” Casey made a deep noise of approval, scraping the side of the kid’s cheek with his stubble, and nibbled on the tender skin at the curve of his neck. “God, you are so easy, Bartowski ,” he snickered into the sweat dampened curls at the side of his head. “You thought about this, haven’t you?” 

“I … d-don’t really know …” A different prod, and Chuck felt his fingernails digging into the wood veneer, leaving half-moon souvenir gouges for Casey. Would he point out the marks later in his filthy banter? Want him to do it again? 

A few more languid nudges, and Casey slid his other hand over Chuck’s thigh, drawing his knuckles up and down his cock. “You don’t know, huh…?” In a simple maneuver, Casey tied up the moves of his hands in unison. When one hand swept up his shaft, Chuck reflexively pulled out of the stroke, and pushed the finger of Casey’s other hand deeper. 

“… oh God ….” Chuck stammered, closing his eyes. “… oh, I can’t ….”

“Right there?” One hand curled up and down his shaft, the other pumping his finger deeper as he tilted his hips into the friction. “That what you’re looking for?” 

Does he really expect an actual answer, with Casey’s hand gliding around his cock and two fingers up his ass? Chuck swallowed to wet his throat. “That’s just … keep doing that…” Resting his head against the glass, he let the slick wet strokes engulf him, let the quiver course through him at the sudden burst of pain and intoxication.

Stop, no don’t stop. 

In truth, he's really not torn by this.

But maybe he had been right the other night. Casey was trying to kill him after all, because he was going to die he if kept pressing in that way. 

As if sensing the head-on collision if he didn’t slow down, the agent eased off the gas pedal. His lips trailed from the kid’s neck to the corner of his mouth, and Casey was kissing him again. Not deep and demanding like before, soft supplications against his lips, telling him he was going to be okay. Asking him if he wanted more. One more slow excruciating thrust, a hand pumping his cock with the timing of the devil or a god, and Chuck jerked his hips down to meet him again. 

Yep, gonna die if he keeps that up.

"Yeah?" Another drag up his cock, the pad of his thumb around the crown, and Casey pulled him back from the ragged edge. “Want to feel me there?” He leaned in close, his lips brushing the edge of Chuck’s jaw, giving him a cursory evaluation of the place he had taken him, see if he was willing to go further. “… my cock in your ass …?” 

Leave it to Casey to be direct and to the point. The question imprinted a scattering of grainy images on his brain, but maybe they weren’t so scary anymore, not after reaching the brink and knowing Casey was holding on to him … wanted to lay him on the mattress, press his weight over him … and fuck him. 

Squeezing his eyes closed, he rested his head to the glass again. If the agent was trying to keep him off balance, he was succeeding, because Chuck couldn’t think. Messing around like this – under the carport, on the Vic, sprawled over the dresser with Casey’s finger’s working into him – well, he was ready to give it up. Had he thought about it? Okay, more than once. Who was he kidding … a dozen times. 

Hell, this week alone a dozen times.

Casey pressed in and bumped his lips to his, waiting for an answer – and ohhh – at the same time, one tip of his finger delicately traced the edge of his hole. Chuck answered with a small frustrated sound, and spread his knees out again, an unspoken permission for Casey to give him more of his finger. Of him. 

“Not that way.” Casey looked amused and dropped a kiss in a mess of curls. “Need to hear it.”

“Hear it?” Chuck blinked at him with heavy lids and let out a breath. “ ’m saying y-yes.” 

“Better.” Casey grazed his lips one more time and pulled back. “Listen to me… you listening?’

Chuck didn’t trust his voice, didn’t have the presence of mind to form actual words. Panting lightly through his mouth, he could only manage a nod. 

“You’re coming to my bed?” Casey’s voice was gravelly, breathing the words to him. “Gonna ask me?”

“I want … that ….” There dammit, he said it – and then he gulped when Casey gave him another swish over his length with his rough palm.

“Heh.” Casey chuckled softly, warm lips on his temple. “Not exactly asking. But I think I may need to make an exception to the rule this one time.” Using the finger that was circling his opening, puffy and engorged, he slowly added a second finger, pumping in and out. Making Chuck jerk his hips and hang on to the dresser, dragging him to another place altogether. 

“… damn, Casey….”

“Feel that…?” 

-x-

“In tune with your… did you say feelings?” Sarah slanted her head to size him up, that wily expression back on her face. “Chuck Bartowski, did he teach you how to hide a lie behind those innocent brown eyes?”

“Sarah, maybe that came out wrong. What I really meant was that –”

“Oh, no.” Sarah held up her hand to stop him. “I think that’s exactly what you meant,” she said, giving him a suggestive quirk of her lips. “Who knew that John Casey had a barometer dialed into … you?” 

“You don’t know him,” Chuck replied, frowning. He was starting to feel a little defensive about this line of questioning. After all, wasn’t his duty to defend his boyfriend? “He isn’t a complete robot, you know. He has, well … feelings.”

“Heh,” Sarah replied. Just great. Now she was doing it – and it sounded almost as cynical as the master’s rendition. 

“What does that mean?” Chuck sat up higher in the bed and his frown deepened. “They’re just different kinds of feelings, that’s all. He just knows how to … bury them a little deeper than the average mortal.” 

The blonde snorted and rolled her eyes skeptically. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Chuck.”

“Sarah.” Chuck folded his arms over his chest defiantly. “He would surprise you. He can be … well, I’ll tell you, he’s very … patient and gentle when he sets his mind to it, so – oh crap.” The kid slapped his hand over his mouth, but it was too late, and he felt the pit of his stomach drop to the floor. That she-weasel! 

“Ah-ha!” Sarah fought to keep a straight face, but the grin broke out like a sunbeam. “Soooo, our very own cuddly assassin is just an anomaly of sorts? Patient and gentle, you say?” Deliberately, she got up from her chair and strolled in for the kill. “I’d love to hear about that.” 

“You!” Chuck sputtered. “I don’t believe this! You did that on purpose!” Taking one look at her smart aleck face, he buried his head in the pillow. “That’s not what I meant to say.” 

“Chuck?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Your ears are pink.” 

“Screw you, Ms. Walker.” He glared at her over the top of the pillow. “God, I can’t believe I fell for that.”

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, drumming her fingers on her elbow. “Huh,” she hummed, cocking her head in his direction. “I would’ve paid to have seen the two of you that first time at the gun range … Mister ‘Lock and Load’ … being all – what are the words again, Chuck?” She laughed softly. “Oh, yeah. Patient. And don’t forget gentle.” 

Chuck pushed his hand through his locks and groaned. Casey was right about one thing, the kid reminded himself. Sarah Walker could be a conniving bitch when she set her mind to it. 

Oh hell. Here we go.

-x-End Chapter Five Part Five-x


	10. Chapter Five (Part Six)

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Five Part Six)

-x-

“No, not like that,” Casey told him. If that wasn’t enough, there was a hard tap on the side of his thigh. “Scoot.”

Huffing, Chuck bent his legs down and felt his heel knock the drawer front. “Not a mind reader, you know. It’s an Intersect in here,” he tapped his forehead. “It doesn’t make me Yoda.”

“Christ. Whatever that means. Just open your eyes.”

“Have you ever tried to ask nicely?”

“And move your ass, eh?”

So much for tender foreplay. But, truthfully, what did he expect with Major John Casey? Red roses and romance? Hardly fitting for the NSA’s go-to guy when dirty work called.

“Move ...?” Looking up from his seat on the dresser, he waited for Casey to fill in the blanks, but as usual, his meaning was buried behind a smug grin. 

“Uh, I thought we were … doing …?” Chuck cleared his throat and looked down at his feet dangling close to the floor. Because, as luck would have it, there was no way to end that sentence without making himself blush. Hard.

“Jesus, brainiac.” Casey took the opportunity to tilt his head and bite down on the curve of his shoulder, enough to leave a trail of tiny red marks that needed to be licked. He took care of that, too. “Want you off of there. You asked, didn’t ya?” 

Any chance of answering was lost the second Casey dropped his hand on Chuck’s lap. Still teasing his throat where he had just left teeth marks, the agent gave him another little squeeze under the crown. Chuck exhaled, trying to prop up, but a hand job on the dresser wasn’t in Casey’s plans tonight. Unbelievably, he moved his large palms to Chuck’s hips, cinching into the flesh with his fingertips, and used the grip to slide his ass to the edge of the dresser –

– and every corner of the room was filled with an inelegant squeeeeaaaak of his butt cheeks over the surface. 

Chuck was smart. Thirty-five on his Math ACTs smart. But it didn’t take the ability to know the difference between the Pythagorean Theorem and the cosine formula to know what that sounded like. 

He winced. “Oh, crap.”

Casey stared down at him for a brief moment, and then raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Have anything else to add to that?”

“That wasn’t me,” he blurted out, hooking a hand on Casey’s elbow to keep him close. “That was the, uh, well – oh, geez.”

If there was any doubt before this, it was now confirmed: sleeping with his supersized scary handler for the first time had high potential of hitting DEFCON One on the scale of utter humiliation before the night was out. 

Casey snorted and dipped his head, pressed his lips to Chuck’s. “Please, Bartowski, just cork it,” he rumbled against his mouth with a chuckle. “I said scoot over, will you?” 

Chuck turned his glance up, feeling heat on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he said. “When I get, you know, a little –”

“And that means without the sounds effects against my furniture.” Casey laughed softly and curled his fingers around Chuck’s forearms. “Hope that’s what it was, at least,” he added to himself.

“Very funny.” Chuck mustered up a weak grin. “At least you won’t have to dust the top on cleaning day, huh?” Oh hell, now he was making stupid jokes as his stomach bottomed out? “What I meant was –”

“Bartowski.” Casey lowered his head and looked him in the eyes. Warm hands ran up his thighs, circled the jut of his hip bones. “I should tell you,” he said, seeming to enjoy this, “I keep duct tape stashed with the pair of cuffs.” 

Chuck squinted at him to see if he was joking, but his mouth dropped open when the agent simply shrugged and gave him a bland stare. “Oh. I see,” the kid drawled, as he cast a look towards the door. “Do you think we can change the subject?” 

“Good thinking, genius.” Casey leaned in and caught his jaw, kissing him slow, all lips and heat … teasing with his mouth and just the bare edge of his teeth. He could get used to Casey’s way of changing the subject. It worked, too.

But the kisses were moving away. So Chuck scooted forward – a little more discreetly this time – and slid until he felt his bare feet land on the hardwood floor. 

“Where’re you going?” he mumbled against Casey’s mouth, but instead of answering, the agent closed his fingers around Chuck’s wrist and tugged. Grazing his lips to his, Casey just traced him with his tongue. The unexpected tenderness dazed the kid, made his knees watery. “I guess … I’ll follow.”

The slight yank he felt made sure of it. Standing in front of the dresser, they were chest to chest, both bodies completely naked … locked in a kiss. Where should he put his hands? Casey’s hips, his shoulders? Was it still too forward to touch him there, to feel the hard yet pliant skin in his palm? Did he want him to? 

What the hell – considering where Casey had his fingers a minute ago?

Here goes. Reaching under Casey’s arm around his flat abdomen, Chuck stroked the muscles before dropping his hand and circling his fingers. Reflexively tightening. Oh, God.

One glide, rimming the edge of the crown with his thumb, looping around unhurriedly … and Casey growled into his mouth. The freaking great kind of growl, because yeah, now he knew Casey has one of those. 

So of course, Chuck did it one more time, and on the trip down, Casey instinctively thrust into his hand, up and back. 

“Fuck … yeah….” Casey left a nip under his ear. “Move your ass back a little.” He used the gentle but firm grip on Chuck’s arm to apply pressure, shuffling sideways to reverse their positions, ignoring the way Chuck’s knees knocked clumsily against his. “This way.” 

Well, the kid didn’t need his Stanford educated brain to tell him that the agent was steering him towards the king size bed, the very thing he had asked for just two minutes ago from his perch on Casey’s dresser. He shouldn’t think about what was next, but a shiver shot deep down in his gut, a swirl of hot nerves stiffened his limbs. But this was Casey, and the learning curve might be worth it.

Cupping his face, his mouth still pressed to his, Casey began to walk him backwards….

Until Chuck’s heel whacked the bed post. “Ow. I didn’t think – ow!” Lifting up his ankle to rub it, the kid gave Casey a half grimace, half smile. “I’m usually not this clumsy… when I’m – uh –”

“Jesus,” Casey broke in. Grabbing his chin, he forced the kid to look at him square on. “Just … close your eyes, okay?”

“Why?” Chuck replied, wary. 

“Do it.” 

Chuck tried to avoid that look, but finally closed his eyes. 

When he did, Casey answered with a hard and open-mouthed kiss, possessive; this one taking everything he had to say and swallowing it down. It was unreal. A man who couldn’t put two syllables together to express his wants or dreams could tell him everything, reveal his soul, in a hot and perfect kiss. 

“M’kay,” Chuck murmured into it, taking it. He relaxed against Casey’s muscular body and filled himself with the kiss – until he felt the mattress on the back of his knees. The kid turned his head. “Oh. I knew it was here somewhere.”

Casey’s lips brushed over his cheek. “Not a bed of nails, Bartowski. Just … sit your ass down, eh?”

“Bed of nails?” A slight push and Chuck felt his rear end sink into the bedspread. “Huh. It’s nice really. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time here… I mean, it was only the one night, and that was a little –”

“Please.” Casey put his thumb over Chuck’s lips. “For the love of God, Bartowski. None of your nervous chatter. Not tonight.”

Well, with his thumb right there, of course, he had to bite down on it. Lightly. Putting on a wry smile, Casey moved it to let him talk. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize ….” Chuck said, and hesitating, he scooted back on the mattress. “Before I comment about the nervous chatter, I should ask if you were serious about the duct tape, because –”

“Really, kid?” Casey’s smile went to this side of lewd. Sliding a palm over the back of the kid’s neck, his thumb absently twined around a loose curl a few times. “I don’t think you’re ready for that. Yet,” he added, contemplating his face. “Maybe we’ll change things up a little later on, huh, slugger.”

Chuck gaped and scooched back a little further. “You know,” he said, “when you have that look on your face … I can never tell if you’re serious or not.” 

“Oh, I don’t kid about duct tape.” His blue eyes gleamed mischievously, a seductive promise in his voice that made Chuck sit up higher in the bed. “Heh. Or cuffs,” he said, running his knuckles down the hollow of his neck.

The pictures that smacked him were as fierce as an Intersect flash. If Casey wanted Chuck to blush wildly at that, well, he got his wish. When the kid looked up to read his face – as if that was possible – the agent gave him a smart ass smirk. 

“Can we … change the subject again?”

“Got a better idea.” Casey sidled up to the bed, staring down at him with his tongue caught between his teeth and leaned in close. And he must’ve known that with Chuck sitting on the mattress and Casey standing there, that his … well, it was right there in Chuck’s face, for crying out loud. The visual full fantasy of his thigh muscles and rise of his ass cheeks, not to mention … wow. 

Don’t stare. Look away. That way, towards the door or the window or… anything…. just don’t stare.

Holy … Damn.

In the sense of equality and apple pie and the American Way, why is that fair?

“Bartowski?” Casey was still wearing that little smirk. 

Chuck blinked. “Y-yeah?” Oh, God. He was stuttering again. “Did you want to … sit down, maybe?”

“No, but lemme guess.” Casey’s rough knuckles moved up to brush his jaw. “The artwork still got your interest?”

“Art –?” Chuck choked and dodged his eyes past Casey’s back to the framed print he noticed exactly four nights ago. “Um-hmm. The, uh, you know, with the little bit of – and what is that anyway?”

“A wheat field.” Casey looked over his shoulder and shrugged at it. “Attention grabber, eh?”

“Uh, sure.” At this point, Chuck wanted to bury his head in his hands. Was it possible for the tapping of his virginity to be more awkward? More humiliating? Couldn’t he get his v-card stamped at the door and start over tonight?

Because, really, a freaking field of what now? Oh, hells bells. While he was at it, why didn’t he just point out how nicely the frame coordinated with the gradient use of ash to grey, or the low contrast … and I will never have sex in my life ever ever – 

“Kid.”

“Yes?”

“You gonna pass out on me?” 

Chuck looked away, scraped his hands through his hair. “Sor – oh, God, again with the sorry, right? You’re sick of it, I know. Sorry for not talking to my sister about us, sorry for freezing like a block of ice in the staircase, for tipping over your things that were on the dresser, and now, well, it’s probably a little obvious – you know, to a wise observer in all things Chuck Bartowski – that I might be just be a bit nervous –”

“Ya think?” Casey huffed, sounding a little annoyed. Folding his arms over his chest, he walked over to the dresser and leaned against it, inspecting him in a way that made Chuck want to squirm. Finally, he said, “Maybe tonight wasn’t such a … with your snoopy sister and all.”

“She’s just concerned. You can’t blame her for being –”

“And then dropping the fucking virgin bomb on me –”

“Not my fault.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be … you can leave… if you want,” he said. “You don’t have to stay here tonight.”

Was Casey body snatched when they were standing in the carport? Since when was the NSA’s top bulldog patient about anything? All this time, buried in his molecular fiber was an iota of tolerance? 

Wait … did he say something about leaving?

Chuck peered over at him from his seat on the mattress. “Casey?”

The agent raised a brow and made one of his sounds.

The kid gave him a hard look. “When we were outside… you said it was only what I want.”

“You do listen on occasion.” Deliberately, Casey pushed himself off from the dresser and sauntered back to the edge of the bed. He eyed Chuck up and down. “Your point?” 

“So, my point,” Chuck replied, leaning back to look up at him, “is that you may have to put up with annoying amounts of babble, and maybe some Bartowski not-so-gracefulness tonight, but if it’s about what I want?” Reaching up, he swiped his fingers lightly over Casey’s forearm, still crossed in front of him. “Well, then. You’re stuck with me. I’m staying.”

The agent studied him for a few seconds, but Chuck caught the quirk of the corner of his mouth. “You know what?” Casey grabbed his jaw again and gently but firmly forced him to meet his stare. “If this is the way its gonna be tonight, there are other ways to get you to shut it. Other methods of persuasion.” 

“I don’t know,” Chuck said. “I may be impervious to your methods, Agent Casey.”

He unfolded his arms and lowered his head to Chuck’s. “That so?” 

About one hammering heartbeat later, the kid figured out that Casey was indeed artfully versed in persuasion tactics. The heated kiss choked off the sound and gave it back, sending a tremor through him. Something in that kiss stirred in his lower belly, and it wasn’t his case of babbling nerves.

“M-maybe I was wrong,” Chuck muttered. Jesus, how could he do this to him so easily? Before he could think, Casey had a grip on the back of Chuck’s head, threaded strong fingers through his dark waves. He held him steady, increasing the heat and insistence that pressed into his mouth… lured him to part his lips with a warm swipe of his tongue, and pushed in when the kid complied. Without thinking, Chuck groaned into his mouth.

Casey gave him a smug look when he pulled back. “See, Bartowski?” he said. “That’s just one way to get you to shut the hell up.” 

Chuck drew in a breath, nostrils flaring as his chest expanded with needed air. Was he trying to overclock the Intersect? “Well,” he said, a little raspy. “You should’ve mentioned it was that kind of persuasion. That … might work.” And the kid looked up at him and grinned. “Not quite sure though.”

“Oh?” The agent regarded him skeptically for a moment and then, Casey decided to give him one more just like it. 

The kid was beginning to understand the vast and provocative range of Casey’s kisses. He could get used to this kind of comparative analysis. 

Because God, right there. He had left his lips slightly parted, and Casey slid his tongue inside and pulled back – just enough to let him know he wanted the kid to follow the movement. He did, of course, and got another long taste, cool and faintly salty. There were a few moments when it was difficult to breathe, but he managed a quick inhale as Casey jostled him and sat down on the bed. The hand Chuck had been using to hang onto Casey’s bicep let go, and he splayed it across his chest, down his sensitive ribcage to his thigh, grazing over the sparse hairs tickling his palm. 

“Mmmph, okay, maybe that would work … and for future reference, I think I like this better than your other methods,” Chuck whispered against his stubbly cheek. “Just sayin’.”

“This too, I suppose.” The kid made a soft broken noise at the touch of Casey’s warm lips skimming the curve of his shoulder, dropping tiny nips and sucks along the way. Closing his eyes, he tilted his neck for him, and the sweep of those lips did him in.

“Wanna … come to bed?” Chuck asked. 

“Isn’t that where we are, Bartowski?”

“Not what I mean.” Wrapping his arm around the agent’s waist, the kid wriggled sideways and back until he could lie down on the blanket. He sunk his head into the feather pillow, and made himself right at home in Casey’s bed. 

Hot demanding kisses followed him all the way down until he was flat on his back. The invitation was there if Casey wanted it, and it didn’t take a word from Chuck for him to get it. Just like that, he lay down on top of him. Long limbs and angles wedged up to bulky muscles, somehow aligned perfectly, knees to hips to chest. 

Tightening his hand in Casey’s hair – the short cut made it feel spiky but soft in his fingers – the kid gave it right back, returning the favor as he opened his mouth again under him. He caught Casey’s lips before he could draw back, and kissed him hard and thorough, stroking his thumb over the side of his face. It felt good to kiss him like this. To take over the kiss. And hopefully, without Casey knocking him on his ass for doing it.

The kid decided to push it further. Smiling into Casey’s mouth, Chuck swept his other hand around his bare waist and down, extending his fingers over the swell of one butt cheek. And now that he was there, touching him, he squeezed into the firm flesh of his naked ass. 

Nice. So that was what was hiding under those jeans all this time.

Casey pulled back with a half murmur, and the kid blinked up at him, letting his eyes focus. He found himself peering up at the agent’s sly face looming over him. 

“What’s that look?” Chuck breathed, needing to wet his lips. His heart was pounding up against Casey’s, and not that he was sorry about it, but his hand was still clamped on his ass. Christ, it was hard as muscle. One more firm squeeze that made Casey’s eyes widen, and the kid let his hand drop to his side. “I thought this was … okay?”

Casey’s eyes were smoke blue, boring into him. “I was just thinking,” he said, and he rested a palm on Chuck’s shoulder, making small circles with his thumb over the bare skin, “I’m gonna have fun using you for sex until I’m done with you.” 

“Ha. But really, that’s all?” Chuck smiled up at Casey’s devious grin. “Because, usually when you have that look on your face, well, it’s something that should worry me.”

“Astute, Bartowski.” Casey’s smile faded, and with one more swipe of his hand, he adjusted his position over him. “There is something I need to … work on with you.”

Well, the way he drew it out … work with him? It sent a spattering of sweaty-hot but not unpleasant pictures tangling between his ears. 

“W-what?” Chuck gave a chuckle and stared up at Casey, trying to figure out where he was going with this. “And, considering the fact that we’re naked, do you really regard it as it work, per se, or maybe –”

“I meant,” and Casey bent his elbows so that his leering face was hovering precisely over Chuck’s, “that it’s going to be a long night.” 

“Oh, really?” Chuck cleared his throat before looking up with a goofy smile. “Is there a mission after this?”

“God, you can be a doofus.” Casey laughed softly and rolled his eyes. And Chuck couldn’t help it, his smile beamed brighter, satisfied that he got the reaction he was after. 

“All right, I’m listening,” the kid said. 

“What I was trying to say is it will be a long night, sport, because of this.” He stopped to narrow his eyes at him. “It seems you follow instructions in the bedroom the same way you do at the firing range. Or, hell, anywhere else for that matter.” 

“I didn’t realize there were instructions?” Chuck’s grin faded a bit. “Next … you’ll tell me there’s a written manual I should’ve memorized or –”

“Stop.” Casey pressed his fingers over the kid’s lips for the second time. “Fuck, do you ever – eh, forget it.” 

A crooked smile formed under Casey’s fingers. “Okay, okay. Sheesh,” Chuck eked out between his lips. “Explain.”

“Well, are you comfortable on my bed, Bartowski?” Casey asked. “Because, I said sit your ass down. I didn’t say anything about sprawling those damn long legs on my bed, did I?”

Chuck’s brows furrowed. “Really? Because I thought –”

“Nuh-uh.” Casey growled sexy and low, and inclining his head, he sunk his teeth lightly into the long tendon of his neck, biting down just hard enough to make him smother his words. It worked. The voice quieted, and Casey answered with an approving low sound, moving his lips soothingly across the angle of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose….

The strength in those subtle movements, the control. Chuck closed his eyes, held perfectly still, nearly vibrating at the touch of his warm lips to bare skin. He parted his lips without thinking, waiting for a press that didn’t come. Instead, hot breath tickled the hair over his ear, and a rough palm coasted up his ribcage to his shoulder – and then gently nudged it up. 

“Jesus, Bartowski, not like that … roll over for me…” Casey urged against his ear. “Need you on your stomach.”

The tender push to get him to roll over was entwined with another kiss, teasing his tongue lightly over his lips. No control to stop it, Chuck made a soft noise against his mouth….

… and that was when he knew to just shut up and comply. 

With one last look at Casey’s face, he stretched his arms and legs and rolled over on his stomach. Turning his head so that his cheek rested on the pillow, he closed his eyes while Casey shifted over him, just feeling him. The brute force of Casey’s hands was channeled into warm and firm touches over his back and shoulder blades, down his spine, gently molding over the curve of his ass. Small circles, digging into his sinewy muscles, sweeping down his lower back. “Oh, mmm, a back massage…?” Chuck hummed in contentment. “Why didn’t you tell me … this was part of your skill set?” 

“Not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

“As if you would let that happen,” Chuck said sleepily into the pillow. “Feels so … yeah, right there,” he added when Casey found a knotted trigger point in his shoulders. 

His large hands kneaded firmly over the plane of his back and drifted down along his legs to his thighs. The touch was cleansing and scalding to the nerves of his body, everywhere. If Casey was trying to keep him awake, this was having the opposite effect – but, oh hell, he was relishing it too much to tell him so. Some time had passed, and the kid became aware of a movement. Casey was knee walking over the blanket. Slanting his chest over him, the agent whispered against the damp curls at Chuck’s temple. “Bend your legs for me, eh? Need you to bring your knees up a little ….”

Chuck just angled his head and blinked at him at first, processing the instructions. Okay, he wanted him ...on all fours. Acting on desire and instinct – not gonna think about it – the kid inched backwards and slid his legs up under him, getting up on his wobbly knees. God, baring his ass for him, so exposed…. 

He didn’t care. Sure, his face was red, his pulse was pounding in his ears … but when Casey traced his hole with a finger – delicate and testing, he didn’t friggin’ care. Another slow circle, looping, and Chuck felt a pulse run through his body, making him want to snap. “… Oh. That’s … God,” he whistled out between clenched teeth, right when the tip of a finger slipped in and out a few times. “F-fuck.…”

“Yeah, I take it that’s the good kind of fuck, huh, Bartowski?” 

Was this dirty talk with Casey, because if it was, Christ, it wasn’t a bad thing. It didn’t feel like he needed a bath afterwards to rinse off the embarrassment. Maybe it was the clean cotton smell of his sheets, now that he was face first in them, or the woodsy clean scent of Casey that made it, well, okay to let his voice wrap him in it. 

Chuck couldn’t begin to think, let alone reply. He could only focus on his chest rising and falling, his heart racing. And again … Casey did it … one more dip, in and out, working in to his first knuckle … The kid heard himself groan – and the finger was gone. 

Oh, shit. Was he trying to kill him? Hearing the whisp and snap of plastic, Chuck turned his head to the side in time to see Casey effortlessly lubing up his fingers. 

“Messy, yeah, but trust me, kid.” Casey’s smile broadened as he tossed the bottle onto the night table. “You’ll appreciate it tomorrow when you’re sitting behind that nerd desk all day.” 

Well, wasn’t that was a slingshot back to reality. “What?! Do you have to be so –” 

But before Chuck could tell him that probably crossed the line of vulgarity, Casey’s finger slipped in to the second knuckle, easy and smooth, and he rocked it enough to make his belly coil up in a knot. “Want that, kid?” he asked barely audible, rocking delicately one more time.

With that prod, Chuck decided to let the remark go. “Oh … right – God.” Just a little deeper this time, while Casey’s other hand dropped to cup his balls, his thumb slowly rubbing the base of his cock. “Gah, Casey….” The kid squelched his eyes shut and fisted the blanket until his knuckles were whitened –

– and that was right about the time a firm but silky touch nudged his butt cheek. Dimly, Chuck heard the rustling of the blankets, and wondered what Casey was … 

What the hell … 

There was a tiny tickle … something wet and smooth and entirely unexpected touched him in a very sensitive spot. 

Oh. Like a haywire fifteen car pileup, the chain reaction that small touch set off was crazily instantaneous. Launching himself, Chuck sprang forward on his knees – and thwack!

He proceeded to crack his head into the very sturdy and unforgiving slats of Casey’s headboard. 

“Ow! Shit shit shit shit!” Bouncing backwards from the direct conk to his cranium, he slammed into the very large and muscular object directly behind him, and with the force of God, and frankly, Chuck felt, the Force itself, he sent Casey nearly tumbling off the back of the bed. 

“… sonofabitch!”

Well, evidently there are certain scenarios where a trained assassin can be taken completely off guard. Like this situation.

Through blind luck, the NSA agent managed to swing out and catch the short bedpost at the foot of the bed a second before his ass would’ve met the floor. 

“…the hell?” Casey snapped, catching his balance. “What the fu –” 

“Dammit, my head!” Chuck’s hand flew up to rub his forehead in a vain attempt to ward off the bolt that shot through his crown. “… Jesus … ouch!” 

“Bartowski.” 

Before he could roll over, Chuck felt the mattress dip and sway under Casey’s weight, and the kid automatically scooched his legs under him again to give Casey room on the blanket. Oh, freaking great. That motion caused a twinge of pain between his eyes, which did nothing to offset the pulsating bells ringing between his ears. Groaning, the kid buried his head in his hands. “… Ow … ow … and can I just say one more time? Ow….” 

Wait. Did he just knock Casey off the end of the bed? 

He couldn’t help it, could he? This had to be, to a certain extent, Casey’s fault too, but should he apologize? What is the etiquette in a situation like this? Hold on. That would assume another living being had actually been in a situation like this. Oh, God. 

“Uh, sorry…?” Chuck managed to mumble into the pillow. “I didn’t mean – it was just – I didn’t really –” Geez. Face him. Turn around and look at him. Still rubbing his head, he angled his neck to catch a glimpse of his handler. “Casey, are you –?”

Chuck flinched at what he saw. A look that confirmed Casey was noticeably miffed at almost getting flung off the mattress onto his butt … right at the moment when Chuck was certain he was expecting something … maybe not quite as jolting?

The kid dropped his face in the pillow again. “Crap. That was my fault,” he said, muffled. Nothing like stating the obvious, but hey, he had to get it out there. 

“Bartowski,” Casey said again, his voice quiet. 

“Just give me a minute… damn damn damn…” He scrubbed the top of his head furiously again. As if that ever works?

With his head down, his dark eyes closed, the kid felt something brush his cheek. Something soft and light drew a line along his jaw. Sighing with exasperation at himself, the mess he made of everything, Chuck rubbed his hand over the top of his head – and was surprised when strong fingers grabbed his wrist, locked it down tightly, and tugged it away from his bruised forehead.

“You okay, kid?” 

“I’m fiiine.” Chuck tried to pull his hand away, but Casey held onto it and leaned in to get a look. “Really,” he griped, flicking his gaze to the agent. “You can tell Beckman that the Intersect had an accident, but it will still be churning on all cylinders by eight a.m.” He tried hide the bitterness, but it seeped in anyway – hell, even Casey would pick up on it. 

“Bartowski, hold still so I can –”

“Now that I think about it, though – considering the circumstances and all? You may want to come up with some generic excuse or reason for the bump on the Intersect.” Twisting his wrist, Chuck attempted to take his hand back one more time, but Casey tightened his hold. “Can you … just let go? Besides, something tells me the General may not find this version of the story amusing – and what the hell was that anyhow, because I really wasn’t expecting … you know, without a warning or hand signal –?”

“Chuck.” 

It was his first name from the darkness over his head that stopped him. Had Casey ever said it before … that way? Pausing, the agent scraped his callused thumb delicately over the sensitive flesh of Chuck’s inner wrist before letting go. Totally confused, large brown eyes turned back to stare up at Casey. “Y-yes?” 

“I meant you, moron.” Casey groaned and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “You okay?”

What was that look? A new one to the Casey repertoire. Either he felt guilty that he had caused Chuck to slam his head hard into the wooden slats, or he felt maybe a smidgen of remorse for tacking on one of his favorite names at the end of that sentence. 

“Me? Am I –” Chuck stared at a pair of blue eyes that flickered with something that looked like concern. A moment passed before he gave Casey a small lopsided smile. “I’m … fine, too,” he replied, a little uncertainty in his voice.

The agent kept his gaze focused on him, then shifted his legs and climbed off the bed. Without a word, he made his way to the bathroom and flicked on the switch, sending a pool of light over the bed and draping it in golden glow.

The burst of illumination made Chuck’s eyes flutter at first as his pupils adjusted, but, holy hell … when his vision focused, the profile made his throat go dry, his head float … Casey’s sharp formed silhouette in front of the light, standing there tall and naked.

God, he was beautiful like this. And he would kill him if he knew Chuck had bound him to that word, even in his thoughts. Blinking at him, the throb in his head dissipated, he let himself take a deep breath – 

“… sure you’re okay?”

“Huh?” Chuck rubbed his eyes. “Can you … uh, I wasn’t really –?”

“Did you flash, Bartowski?” Casey asked, smirking. “You had that idiot look on your face.”

“N-no, no flash.” Chuck flushed, trying to keep a shake out of his voice. “Oh, and I’m fine. I’ve done worse, much worse to myself, to others – by mistake of course. Once, when I was nine, I accidently –”

“Take these.” Casey’s large palm was flat under his nose and Chuck caught sight of two aspirin. “Here’s some water,” he added, passing off a glass.

At first, the kid bunched up his brows at the pills being foisted upon him, but after a second he obediently took the aspirin and chased it down with a long drink. “Thanks,” he said when Casey took the glass out of his hand. “Bet you didn’t count on needing a first-aid kit tonight, hmm?”

“With you, Bartowski, I couldn’t rule it out.” A hand on the side of Chuck’s jaw dragged his attention up to his eyes. “Always the possibility someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“Wow. Thanks.” He tried to wrestle his jaw free, but Casey held him. Squinting at the place Chuck was sure had turned purplish-red by now, he pressed in with a touch that the kid didn’t know Casey even possessed, like the cool splash of water from a spigot. When his palm drew back, Casey’s lips brushed over his temple, the top of his head, and then he let go.

It still hurt, but somehow this made it bearable.

Chuck curled his fingers into the pillow, barely breathing. Didn’t want to shudder or upset the moment. “… ‘s better… thanks, Casey.”

A soft kiss was pressed to the back of his neck, another rub on the crown of his head. A moment later, he heard Casey let out a weary exhale. “We can do this another time.”

Chuck’s brain took a moment to register the suggestion, but when it did, he angled his head to look up at him. “Casey?”

The larger man had straightened, still holding the glass as he was getting ready to turn off the bathroom light. He paused, filling the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

-x-

“Earth to Sarah Walker.” Chuck reached out with one long arm and waved it in the air. “Can you hear the transmission, Ms. Walker?” The blonde made no response at first, her eyes holding a blurry dreaminess that Chuck had never witnessed in them. This was the great Sarah Walker, all business, no bullshit, and she looked … odd. Baffled, the kid raised his hand again. “Sarah? Are you okay? 

“Wh – oh.” Sarah cleared her throat, and bringing her hand up, she pushed a long lock out of her face. “I’m … fine.”

Chuck studied every inch of her flushed features, taking in the slight glistening of moisture on her cheeks. “Oh, no,” he said. “I – I didn’t give you the flu after all, did I?” 

“The … flu? Of course not. I’m –”

“You look a little … pink, and may I say, glowing? Which I have to say is not the Sarah Walker look I’m accustomed to – unless it involves karate chopping bad guys. And the worst thing I could do in a show of gratitude would be to give you what I have.” The pill bottles on the night table caught his attention. “We can call David, couldn’t we? Find out if – what’s so funny?”

Now even more bewildered, Chuck watched as Sarah brought her palm up over her mouth, trying to hide a toothy smile behind it. “No, no, no.” she told him, looking away to occupy herself with the cleanup of take-out containers. “I don’t have what you have – I was just a little… never mind.” She glanced over at him wearing a know-it-all grin. “And do me a favor?”

“Sure … what is it?

“Do not ever suggest that David needs to be brought back here.” Sarah rolled her eyes as she crumpled up a bag. “God, I’d hate to see what would happen if you two were in the same room – and your, let’s just say possessive boyfriend showed up –”

“Why? What’s wrong with David – hold on, did you say you think Casey’s possessive?”

Sarah made a derisive sound. “Oh, Chuck Bartowski, you are adorable. But, I’m not letting you change the subject,” she said. “The shooting range… his arms around you for the first time?” The blonde tilted her head to study him. “Being Mister Patient and Gentle while he shows you the ropes?”

“Um, I should tell you, I think I need to use the little boys –”

“Then if I were you,” Sarah cut in, “I’d answer the damn question.”

-x-

“You never answered my question.” God, he still felt like an idiot as he scooted back on his hands and knees, putting some distance between him and Casey’s headboard. “What was … that?”

“Heh.” Casey leaned over his back, caging Chuck in with his arms on either side of his shoulders. He nudged his nose into the dark curls at his ear. “Really, kid?” One hand curved around Chuck’s middle, sliding the pads of his fingers to his lower belly and down, making Chuck inhale sharply. “You should know what that was,” Casey told him. “God knows, Bartowski, it’s been in your mouth enough tonight.”

“Oh? Oh.” And right then, at eleven fifteen on a Tuesday night, when he thought he couldn’t turn redder – or his dick get harder – he was slapped with the realization that Casey had rimmed his ass with his tongue. 

Oh, Jesus, that was perfect. 

“If I do it again, promise not to crack your noggin open?” Casey asked, and Chuck swore he heard a small laugh. “Trust me when I say the next part’s more fun when you’re conscious, eh?”

“Hilarious.” Chuck tried to give him a perturbed look, but Casey broke that off by sliding his hand down his cock, rolling his thumb around the ridge languidly, up and over the slit. 

Then, he did that crazy thing again. 

Surprising to both men – and a massive relief to Chuck at least – the kid managed to skip the head bonking part that time. “Oh. That’s … mnghh.” 

The sensual torment washed over him like waves, lapping at his bare flesh until it pulled him under in a whirlpool. Slicked fingers and a warm tongue alternated, and the kid felt his knees lurch, wanting so badly to rock back into the prodding and touching, send it deeper. 

And Casey, when he does it, it’s all quiet and intent – so close over him and in him that Chuck’s nose and lungs were filled with the masculine scent of the agent. Moving back on his knees instinctively, meeting the rhythm of Casey’s finger and tongue thrusting inside of him, and oh, fuck. All that mattered was how good it felt. “God, –‘sey … that …”

“Yeah, now you got it … atta boy,” Casey murmured, pleased with the rocking motion he had wrenched out of him, gently prodding with his finger, opening him. “Like that?”

Chuck tightened his fists into the blankets, wanted to shatter. He gave up defiance at the feel of a slow rub. “Oh … shit….”

“Need you to stay there,” Casey said, his voice getting throaty. Inexplicably, Chuck heard the rumple of blankets as he shifted away. “Don’t move, eh?” 

Was he freaking serious? “W-wasn’t planning on it,” Chuck stammered. “I’ll just be … uh, right here I guess.” On his hands and knees, leg muscles practically coiling under him. “Yep, don’t worry about me.”

Casey helped himself to a handful of skinny ass cheek on the way off the bed. “Don’t worry. Not leaving you,” he chuckled.

The hand on his ass didn’t hurt, but Chuck yelped anyway. It was a violation of his dignity, after all. “Thought you might be getting ready to go out,” the kid said. “You know, bump off a few thugs on the corner for the evening’s entertainment.”

“Already had a take-down tonight. Remember? Outside your sister’s apartment. Now comes the fun part, kid.” 

“Uh, just for the record, will you be doing that again, because really? I didn’t know foreplay would include me crapping my pants in terror, that’s all.”

Casey snorted, amused, but maybe pleased he still had that affect. Reaching for the nightstand drawer, he fished through it and pulled out a box of condoms. Not the novelty kind, none of the berry flavored crap or glow in the dark variety that Chuck had noticed when Morgan had dragged him to a sex shop for ‘research’. No, these were the good old fashioned Trojans ultra thins XL. 

The agent paused with a self-satisfied gleam, and oh yeah – Chuck knew he was staring as he watched Casey roll on the condom. “If you’re good with your hands, I’ll let you do this next time,” Casey told him. 

“Do what now?” 

“Roll it on – what did you think?” Casey looked at him curiously and he raised a brow. “Oh, hell no. Let’s get that out right now. Not in your lifetime, princess.”

“I didn’t … I wasn’t… implying –” Chuck felt his face turning bright red. “Can we just … change the subject again?”

“Good thinking,” Casey agreed, and putting a knee on the bed, he settled that by clutching an ass cheek while he pressed his thighs in close. “Or, we can not talk.” The suggestion came with a prompt in the form of his fingers dipping in. “… yeah?”

Chuck heard a moan, realizing that it was him. Needed to let go. This was happening … and most of his fear had eroded into a vortex of pleasure so far, but the prospect of what came next sent a tiny jab of jitters into his gut. 

“Kid?” Casey’s hands splayed on his butt cheeks, fingertips pressed into the lean muscle. “Still trust me?”

“You know I do.” Chuck said it without reservation, not even thinking about it first. He did. Since the moment Sarah had left with Bryce, and Casey had stayed to protect him, he did trust him. 

“That’s not gonna change.” Without giving him time to think, to overanalyze, to freak out, Casey pressed the tip of his dick against his asshole, and leaned in slowly…. 

A flash of pain forced a grunt out of the kid and he squeezed his eyes shut. The pressure at the ring of muscles stilled for a moment, but John Casey wasn’t one to waste time, and the next thing Chuck felt was the heated sensation of the crown breeching him. Sucking in a low even breath, Casey pulled out slowly – just a mere half inch – and gradually reentered the head of his cock. And oh, God, he stopped.

It sent a ripple of response through the kid, a tenuous spike hell bent on splitting him wide open. Choking on his air, he had to bite down on the side of his hand to strangle off the embarrassing noises that would be sure to erupt. 

One of Casey’s hands now moved to his shoulder, clutching and stroking, seeking to steady him. “Easy, sport.”

Details ran together like watercolors in a storm. How long would Casey stay like this? Keep him like this? “… My God,” Chuck heard himself say against the sweaty flesh of his hand. “Oh God oh God.”

“This, kid?” the larger man said, scratchy, leaning up to caress the side of his throat. “This is where you get to forget.”

Forget what? But when Casey made one short thrusting motion, getting him used to the stretch, feeding him a ball of pleasure and ache … Chuck realized what he meant. 

For now, forget the Intersect, forget abandonment, forget betrayal. All of the shit in his life.

Only this. 

Chuck couldn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Wanted to scream. Wanted Casey to push him down with that restrained intensity he had perfected and just fuck him into the blankets until he didn’t know who he was. At least for now. 

But the bastard was waiting for him to do something. Warm hands swept over his lower back, digging into the muscles. Chuck swallowed, hearing a dry scrape in his throat. Gripping the bedspread in his fists, he eased back, taking an inch more of him … pushing tentatively on his cock. Letting him know it was still okay.

Casey grunted, pleased with the very small shifting movement. “There … yeah, you got it….” he said softly, close enough to tickle the side of his neck. “You want more…?” He pushed in a little deeper with the next stroke. At this agonizing, blissful pace, it would take forever to get completely inside him. The slow insertion was an erotic show – one that was making the kid’s limbs melt. The abdication of control made him feel awkward and eager, a little shy – but he still wanted to feel it. 

Want more? Chuck tilted his knees and pushed back, meeting the slow burn another excruciating inch. “… damn, Casey….”

“Stay … like that,” Casey said, barely a whisper. Stiff fingers dragged up, dug into smooth skin of his hips. “… That’s right … this feel good –?”

Suddenly, two things happened at once. A tinny buzz, resonating like a brick through the goddamn window, blared from a certain pair of cotton sleep pants curled on the floor. And instead of easing his hips forward, Casey froze, staring straight ahead at a mess of dark waves, listening for the notes to stop. 

“Oh, God,” Chuck muttered, almost smacking into the headboard again. “No, no, no – not now.”

Maybe later, many years down the line, he would either laugh or die at the position he now found himself in. Shaking and twitching on his knees as the New Kids warbled in harmony to the chorus of “Step by Step.” But right now, the only thing Chuck could do was drop his head onto his fists and wince, mortified. 

Of course, the trained spy in the room was the first to gain his balance from the shrill noise. “What,” Casey asked quietly, “the fuck … is that?” 

“That would be … my phone?”

“And if you even think about answering that ….” Casey clenched his fingertips into his hip one more time and canted his hips forward … just enough….

“It’s – ah – Ellie. That’s her ringtone. She used to love them, and I thought it would be mmph… God Casey….” The nudge sank his cheek deeper into the pillow. “It’s – it sounds very curious right now, I m-might add. It’s not often I slip out in the night, you know?”

“Heh. Yeah, I got that memo tonight.” Casey’s hand dropped to cup Chuck’s balls, running his finger along them. And so slow … he pressed in. “… yeah…?”

“… Shit … Casey, what about … oh.”

“Listening to me?” Casey closed his hand around his cock, giving him a few good glides up and down, rough palms taking him over. Using the kind of power that made Chuck need to fuck his hand. “Plan on taking that call?” Casey asked.

“Nmmm.” 

“Good,” the agent replied. “I told ya, if you were gonna chicken out from talking to her –” and Casey made a deep noise in his chest when his dick slid into more virgin territory. “… yeah, like that, … then you needed to adjust the mission specs, Bartowski.”

“Are you t-talking about this now?”

“You shoulda made up a lie at least…” Bending over the kid’s back, Casey gave him a small prod until he got the gasp he was looking for. Then, he said quietly in his ear, “You could’ve told her you were going to Morgan’s – playing one of those kiddies’ games in the idiot’s basement.” Possibly he wanted to make a point, so he used his knees to spread Chuck’s thighs apart. “Knew she would stick her nose in.”

“How could I when you – oh God –” He had to stop when Casey drove in a little more, on purpose, and there were no words for that. Fisting the sheets, Chuck swallowed hard to find his voice again. “Y-you were dragging me! I didn’t have a chance tell her –”

Abruptly, the ringtone cut off in the middle of the chorus. Casey pinched Chuck’s ass cheek, getting a shirk from him a nanosecond later. “Well, kiddo, mission accomplished at least. Even blood hounds give up when they lose the scent of the trail –”

‘… I’ve got to have you all just for me …’

Casey went rigid one more time. “What the hell…?”

“Uh, shh-she always calls twice. Just in case it was the wrong number or – oh… shit ... if I couldn’t get to the phone fast enough –”

“You plan on getting to the phone this time, Bartowski?” His question was accompanied by a press inward, the first light jab to a gland that on contact scattered his thoughts like dry leaves in the wind. When Chuck answered with a groan, Casey gently kicked his knees out wider again – and made it a two for one. “Or can I convince you to let it roll to voicemail?” 

“Th-this … this might be a little difficult to explain right now any – ah.” Chuck felt every inch of that cock, entering deep inside, flaming through his barriers like a backdraft. Slowing, easing back in …. “It’s so … right there….”

“Good answer, Bartowski.” Casey arched forward just enough to give the kid another achy inch of himself. Putting one hand firmly on the back of his neck, he pressed his chest to Chuck’s back, lips skimming hot against his temple. “Why don’t you rock back on it?” he suggested coolly. “… c’mon … take more….” One easy poke, deeper than before, and it made his gut clench. 

“Jesus ….” Chuck moaned between his teeth. He filled him tight, stretched him with a crazy mingling of agony and ecstasy. Oh, but fucking hell, he couldn’t stop. The kid shifted his knees back, letting Casey work himself in deeper, telling him it was okay to take him like this. 

“Yeah … you want this, I can tell.” Another arch of his hips, and Casey buried his dick in his ass, flooding him with warmth; a few juts and resistance turned to a smooth glide. Again and again, slowing down, making him feel all of it. 

Unhinged, not struggling, Chuck edged back to meet him. Knew the fight was over. 

“Feel that …?” Casey spoke low, giving an even cant forward. “Like what you saved yourself for?”

He could only close his eyes. Because really, Casey didn’t expect an answer, did he? Not now, not like this. Responding with his body instead, Chuck tried to push back on his knees, but the fingers digging in to his hips kept him motionless, allowing the muscles of his asshole to relax …. The sting ebbed, draining out of his body and leaving him with a hole of fierce need.

“God, Casey… do th – ….” Do more, do it ….

Maybe he heard his clamoring thoughts, because Casey thrust in, fucking him in and out. Keeping it slow and steady. “That what you want?” he said, his voice thick, waiting for an answer. 

Chuck made wordless noises of supplication, meshed with the movement of Casey’s hips and his hand sliding on his cock. He wasn’t going to make it. “… that’s … y-yeah….”

“Like that?” Casey put a hand on the back of his neck, threading his fingers through his hair, and gently pushed his weight against Chuck’s ass. He started slick and easy, letting the kid feel every inch, pressing him face down in the sheets. “You want it faster?” He said it hoarsely, the only dead giveaway that it was turning him inside out too. Chuck thought he felt him shaking. “Or slower…?” 

“Want you ….” Chuck had to take a deep breath as the words were pushed out of him. “Come on … Casey … f-fuck.”

So, he fucked him a little harder. The hand in his hair tangled in his locks, holding him down; every forceful thrust was met with a light caress at his bare neck. “Like me there?” Casey asked. “Not gonna fuck you hard this time … no matter what you think you want, kid.”

It was nothing like Chuck imaged happening, not like this. For this first perfect-painful time, he was taking care of him. Surprisingly gentle, the agent pulled him in, making him closer with a hold around his middle. Lazily, he thumbed the head of his cock, taking his sweet ass time about it. “… Yeah? Wanna feel that?”

“Casey, I –” Chuck’s voice cracked with another nudge that made him dizzy.

“Fuck my hand,” Casey urged quietly, arching across his back to graze his lips on Chuck’s shoulder blade. “… c’mon, kid.” Brain functioning ceased. The only thing he could do was jerk his hips into Casey’s palm, feeling it happen. With the knife’s edge of pleasure severing the kid, Casey gave him another long slow glide down his hard cock. “Yeah, you want that….” Casey said, a little low and husky.

The world had crawled to a stop; every point of contact in his deepest places twisted in his body. When he thought there was no more, Casey pulled back and sank forward, his thighs settling against Chuck’s ass cheeks. Jesus, Casey was big. He held himself there, letting Chuck feel the tautness, let him tense his muscles around him. With his heart hammering, he felt Casey rock into him, still restrained but harder than he had all night. Letting him feel every bit of the perfect curve that Casey could give him. Uncontrollably, Chuck wanted more. He tilted up, all unsteady and wavering on his knees, and shoved back in desperation, drawing a quiet moan out of Casey. 

“Fuck … kid…” Oh, right there. A blissful point when Casey stopped deep in his ass, stretching him unbearably, sublimely. Chuck bit down hard on his fist, overwhelmed with words he would never be able to say, and too wired to know he should be feeling a spasm of hurt. 

Curling his fingers around Chuck, Casey’s hand tightened, giving in to long smooth pulls. That was it. The kid whimpered, totally loosing it, and fucked down into this hand with Casey fucking his ass. 

He had to remember to breathe.

Then, he heard it. “Gonna come for me now, kid?” Well, it was that – Casey asking this time, asking to see it and feel it under him, and the climax exploded, making him buck up with his hips, driving Casey in deep again. 

“… damn you damn you ….” Later – not now, not while his nerve endings sparked like fissions of energy – he would try to understand why he was cursing at Casey. He would have ample time to sort that out with the truckload of other sticky emotions and images that were seared on his brain after tonight. Such as being fucked by the NSA, literally this time.

At the feel of one last thrust deep inside him, he was struck with something else to add to the list of Incredibly Scary Things He Knows about John Casey.

The man comes quiet, like a razor of intensity that peels back skin, a bruising climax so silent the air freezes. Hell, the only way that Chuck even knew he came is the way he sank into him slow and held it there, not moving for a minute. 

When the kid thought his legs were finally going crumple, Casey brought up a warm hand to rub Chuck’s muscles along his spine, letting the aftershocks drain out of them. Resting his forehead on the bed, Chuck could only concentrate on the sound in his ears …

And with no warning, Casey released him and pulled out.

Ow. Ow. Ow. The second he could straighten his knees again, Chuck stretched his back and landed on the bedcovers, a loose puddle of trembling long limbs. The kid was messy and flushed, unable to speak or think straight – not with his brain sloshing around after Casey had just worked insane acts of magic on him.

Laying there for a long minute in stillness, listening to Casey rumple up a tissue, he couldn’t help but wonder – was this the part where he gets tossed out of bed and ordered to go home to his sister? 

A sound next to him drew his attention. When the kid turned his head, he felt a finger coasting over his jaw and cheek. Simple and tickling. “Mmm.” Chuck stretched and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I think I like this bed,” he said sleepily. 

As Casey trailed his fingers along his nose, Chuck opened his eyes and tried to catch one in his teeth, but Casey pulled his hand away. Instead, the kid was met with piercing blue eyes scrutinizing his face. 

“It’s not bad here,” the agent agreed, “when you get used to it.” Tilting his head, Casey lowered his face and kissed the corner of his mouth. Chuck relaxed into it, laid there like a pile of bones and let Casey give him a kiss wrapped in velvet and a scent of spice. Let himself get immersed in it. 

He was still moving his lips to match Casey’s kiss when the agent pulled back to gaze down at him. “Kid?”

“Hmm?” Chuck pushed away the damp hair on his forehead, squinting up at his face.

“It happened, okay?” Casey gave him one more kiss on his forehead before rolling on his back, laying his arm across the pillow. “Don’t wanna hear your version of trying to figure out what this means now. Just get some shut eye.”

Isn’t that subtle. Casey’s Relationship Advice, 101. Deal with it.

But that was when he noticed it. Casey’s hand on the pillow. Palm up, fingers half curled, suggesting surrender. It said everything his words left out.

He would succumb, just as far, just as deep. Something told the kid this was going to be a hell of a trip, starting tonight.

Brown eyes drifted shut as the tension left his body, making him lax in the afterglow. He had no idea how he’d feel tomorrow. But he should tell him how it felt now.

“Casey?” Chuck let out a satisfied breath, listening to his heart rate ratcheting down to a slow simmer for a minute. When there was no answer, he angled his head and gave Casey a sleepy crooked grin. “Uh, just so you know?” he said, spreading out on the agent’s enormous bed. “I’m kinda glad I didn’t pick up that call.” 

Casey turned his head to look at him and let out a big puff of his cheeks. There was a weird hint of a smile there. “Chuck?”

“Yeah?”

Wordlessly, the agent joggled his shoulder until Chuck lifted his head, and when he did, he slid the crook of his arm under him. Long fingers idly caressed his bicep, brushed down the kid’s arm.

“Go to sleep,” Casey finally huffed, “before I decide to suffocate you with that pillow.”

-x-End Chapter Five Part Six-x-


	11. Chapter Five (Part Seven)

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Five Part Seven)

x-

“Sarah, is that what I think it is?”

Picking up the small white box wrapped in a slim cord, she waved it over the table. “Would I forget?”

“Were you holding out on me?” Chuck held out a hand and curled his fingers in her direction. “Hand it over, Ms. Walker.”

“That’s not what’s in question here, Mister Bartowski,” she replied, raising a brow in a way that was playful. “Have you been holding out on me?”

“Bring that baklava over here and find out.” Chuck grinned when she grabbed a few napkins and climbed out of her seat. “Please tell me you got the ones with the little bits of –”

“Pistachio? Flaky, crisp layers, drizzled lightly in honey?”

“Such heroics twice in one day. You really could beat the crap out of Captain America.” Chuck sat up higher in the bed, reaching out a hand expectantly. “Did you get enough for Casey, or will we need to hide the box?”

Sarah smiled. “Scoot.” She flicked her hand towards the other side of the bed. “Make some room for your hero.”

Relieving her of the box, he gave her a charming smile. “Huh. I've always wanted to say, ‘Leave the gun, take the baklava’, but I suppose this is a lost opportune – oh, God, Sarah.” He stopped to roll his eyes at the blank look on her face. “Geez, you are worse than Casey with this stuff. Just sit, okay.”

When Chuck shifted over, she flopped down, stretching out over the blanket. “Thanks,” she said, lifting one of the folds of the box. “It was getting uncomfortable at the table.”

“And here, I thought I was the one who was uncomfortable.” He grabbed one of the pastries and stopped to look at her inquisitively before taking a bite. “Does this mean the interrogation is over?”

“I think you’ve been a cooperative subject.” Sarah tilted her head to the side and her smile broadened as she watched him take another huge bite. “I’m surprised you can eat that after you wolfed down so much. Aren’t you sick of take-out food?”

“Hmm?” Chuck said between a mouthful of baklava.

“You know, don’t you get tired of it? Two men – I can’t really call you bachelors – living together…? I’m sure you order pizza or Chinese every night.”

“No we don’t,” Chuck said, concentrating on his next bite.

Sarah’s brow wrinkled at first. “I don’t believe it. You actually learned to cook. Good for you.”

The kid wiped his fingers on the napkin and glanced at her. “Oh. No, that didn’t change either.” He raised his index finger. “This is still my only meal preparation tool,” Chuck admitted. I’m pretty proud of it. I can speed dial Romano’s without having to pause the game.”

“But I thought you just said ...?” The blonde smacked his arm good-naturedly, but at least she handed him another pastry. “Chuck! That’s awful!”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? Ellie.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m sure all along she thought a day would come when she wouldn’t have to cook for you anymore, and now, you dragged home another mouth to feed.”

“We don’t eat at Ellie’s,” he said casually, licking the honey from his finger.

The piece of baklava that was poised to go into her mouth stopped mid-air. Shifting her eyes, Sarah slanted a look at him. “I don’t get it. You don’t cook, you don’t eat at Ellie’s… wait. Hold on.” The devious grin was back again, lighting up her face like a beacon. “Casey?! Mister Lock and Load really does like to cook? It wasn’t just the mini quiches?” A giggle escaped from her lips before she could bottle it up. “Oh … this is priceless.”

Setting down the half eaten piece, Chuck frowned at her. “So, he cooks. What, may I ask, is wrong with that?”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with cooking.”

“Then why are you still laughing?”

“Because it’s Casey, that’s why.” She tried to stifle another giggle. “’Let God sort out the bodies’? C’mon, Chuck. Admit it. You were surprised too, I bet.”

“Well.” Chuck thought about it for a moment as he adjusted the blanket over his knees. “Okay, yes. I was surprised. But very pleasantly, I must add.”

“Oh? Such as …?”

“I thought you said the interrogation was over.”

“It is,” she assured him, looking way too amused. Sarah attempted to regain her composure, though Chuck was certain she was picturing Casey in a clover leaf apron at the stove. “What’s his best dish?”

“His best …?”

“You know, your favorite thing he does in the kitchen?”

Oh … Chuck was forced to turn his face away to blush … but that was only the one time.

“Uh,” he scrambled, “chorizo and goat cheese enchiladas, I guess?”

“Ooooh.” She drew it out, one syllable that could go on for a country mile … and no doubt noticing the bloom of red he was trying to hide behind an obscenely large piece of pastry. After a moment, the corner of her mouth slowly quirked up. “That’s … inventive.”

“He’s, well, he’s – ah – resourceful in the kitchen.” There. That was safe, right? “He, uh….” Chuck had to break it off with a cough. “He likes to try new things.”

“Huh.” That perfectly arched brow nearly hit her hair line. “Reallllly….”

-x-

“What is wrong with you?! I told you not to do that to me anymore. We had an agreement, remember? Because I distinctly recall that you were listening when I said it – not that you answered, or anything like that.” Chuck tried to twist his body between Casey’s wide forearms. Immediately, he groaned to himself and gave up when he found this was useless. “But you definitely made one of those sounds that makes me think you were listening –”

“Nuh-uh. Don’t turn around. Stay like that.” The words were breathed, low and visceral, into the dark waves at the back of his head. “Yeah, this works….”

Since he couldn’t move his body, Chuck just angled his head sideways at him. “You fully intend on keeping me here…?”

Casey made a noncommittal grunt and brought his arms in tighter.

The irritating part was he didn’t even hear the key in the lock or the door opening on its hinges. So, in retrospect, he had no one to blame but himself for being put in this position. Not that he was complaining … no, not that, because wasn’t it this exact stance, with Casey pressed up behind him, thick arms caging him in on either side, that got him in this situation in the first place? Just to be fair, right?

Except this time, instead of holding the hot gunmetal of a smoking pistol, he was holding his dinner plate under the running water, scraping off the last vestiges of Casey’s leftover chorizo enchiladas from last night. God, the way he could make it … spicy with jalapenos and crème, chunky pieces of chorizo in roasted tomato sauce….

The kid had to give him credit. The man knew his meats.

Large distraction aside, Chuck closed his hands around the plate and tried not to drop it into the sink. But when he turned off the faucet, something soft and wet grazed the back of his neck. This was all Casey. Heat. Perspiration. Old wood, a tinge of a cedar scent. Post-mission smells, without the scent of blood this time. “Did you –?”

Casey made a noise in his chest, self-satisfied. “FBI took him into custody. Little fucker didn’t even put up a fight.” He said FBI in the tone he would say Democrats, but his voice went smoky at the end. “That was good Intel today, Intersect. Beckman was pleased to know that we didn’t have to take Drechsler out. She wants him transported to Washington for questioning. Might’ve just blasted a hole through their network.”

“Let me take a look at you,” Chuck said, trying to turn around and get a read on his face, but Casey pinned him against the sink before he could manage to budge. The soft touch above his collar was back again, Casey’s lips more insistent this time. Firm, hot sweeps below the curls, traveling to the sensitive spot under his ear.

Distantly, he was aware of the fact that it was a Friday night, he was standing barefoot at the kitchen sink wearing a t-shirt and cotton drawstring sleep pants … and there was a rock hard dick pressing into his backside. How it didn’t puncture a hole in those jeans was a credit to the quality of a good pair of broken in Levis.

“Casey… what … are you doing?”

“Heh. Usually don’t need to explain it to you.” His dick took up the explanation, though, by grating along his backside a few times. A rough friction that usually did it for Casey.

“Would you … ah …stop kidding around. Geez.”

“… Does it feel like I’m kidding..?” This was said with a perfectly placed poke between his ass cheeks.

“Funny.” He couldn’t move. Partially due to the arms trapping him against the sink, and to be truthful, partly because there was a cock still rubbing firmly against his butt. Chuck swallowed hard, wetting his throat, a dry sound that was loud enough for Casey to hear. He chuckled, undeniably turned on by this.

“You wondering…?” The sweep of lips traced his ear.

Without thinking, the kid bumped his hips backward in a careless way – a move that he realized too late could be completely misinterpreted. “Are you hungry?” he asked, trying to bring a speck of coherence into the conversation.

“See?” Casey settled a large hand on his shoulder, looped a finger under his collar and pulled, exposing the bare skin at the curve of his neck. “I knew I wouldn’t have to explain it to you.” Not waiting for the protest, he bit lightly, then sucked and teased with the tip of his tongue.

“Are you – I can’t – can you move your – so that I can – gah. You’re a pain in the ass you know that, don’t you?”

“I do like the way you think, kid.” The hot tongue tickled a path around his ear lobe and Casey took it between his teeth and nibbled gently.

“That’s … uh… shit ….” Before he could stop himself with rational thought, the kid tipped his head to the side, just enough to give Casey the access he was determined to find.

Skittishness had evaporated. The fact that Chuck had given in to him so willingly pushed an approving rumble out of Casey’s throat, a burr the kid felt as warm breath washed over his skin.

Oh, God. He was an idiot for this, letting his not quite oversexed boyfriend squeeze him into position, holding him there, running his large hand lightly over Chuck’s knuckles. Another hand came off the counter and drifted up inside the front of his shirt. Doing wicked things to a sensitive nipple.

Chuck quivered, but stayed still. He knew his boyfriend by now, that Casey wanted him to focus attention to his hands so he could create a diversion away from the primary target. As if through some crazy tactics he could take his attention away from the push of velvet steel between his ass cheeks, slowly rubbing up and down, stroking side to side.

Another prod slid over the fabric that covered his crack, and oh, hell – the argument for idiocy wasn’t quite so important at this moment.

Through those damn flimsy cotton pants, he could feel the broad ridge of the head, every inch of him, a knot drawing tighter and tighter in his lower belly. God, it felt good. He pushed back again.

“… There … I like that ….” Casey dropped one of his hands to Chuck’s hips, dragged a strong and sure palm to the front of his pants – and punished him by just barely brushing his fingertips down his cock in a too-light touch while gently nipping his neck.

“Ca-sey, wha –”

The agent intervened with a hand touching his jaw, his thumb at the corner of the kid’s lips, using firm pressure to steer his face around. He wasted no time fitting his mouth over Chuck’s, hand holding him in check. Dark eyes closed, and when the kid parted his lips, Casey slipped past them, pushing in with an unhurried wet tangle of tongue.

“Like that, do you?” Casey drew his hands around his waist and tugged him close, meeting the pressure with a tight grind. Lowering his head, he sucked over Chuck’s collarbone, licking the hollow of his neck. “Bartowski,” he whispered hoarsely. “Are you listening?” Words that came out dark and scratchy, disguised as a question. “Wanna turn around now?”

The immovable object behind him shuffled back half a foot or so, just enough for Chuck to swivel around to face flinty blue eyes. That look. Arousal-sparked broken glass irises. He almost didn’t see it coming, but he knew it now. Post-mission adrenaline left a scorch in Casey’s veins, an oil spill that burned off the choppy waters only through post-mission sex.

His last scrap of sanity told him he should move. But who was he kidding? The prospect of not knowing what his boyfriend would do next sent his heart jackhammering in a staccato rhythm against his ribs. Chuck licked his bottom lip. “Under n-normal circumstances, I would ask – “

“Not asking.” Casey bit down on the side of his throat, traced the tiny mark he had left there. “Lift your arms.” When Casey grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over Chuck’s head, the kid knew he had no control over this. His touches kept him locked in place and wanting his hands on him. Kept Chuck torn between his intense devotion to logic and his impulsive streak, the one that made him go headlong into the deep end from time to time.

And right now might just be one of those times.

Because despite the fact that they were standing at the sink on a Friday evening, he remained there and let large hands rake over his middle, coarse and rough to bare skin. Latching onto the drawstring, they worked deftly – a pull here, a tug, and Casey’s palms skidded down his lower belly, running his thumb over the head of his cock, swabbing languidly over the tip.

“Casey….” Chuck grabbed onto his arms at the elbows, only to keep his knees from sagging against the cupboard. Futile, because they had turned to water the second Casey lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked the tip of it.

“Keep your eyes open and watch me this time.” The agent touched his chin to ensure he had his attention. “I want to see your face when you come."

Just like that, with his hands clenching into Chuck’s narrow hips, Casey’s knees sunk to the floor.

Which could’ve hurt like hell, and ruined the opportunity for a sublimely dirty blowjob in the kitchen if it wasn’t for Casey’s turquoise and cream colored woven rug in front of the sink. Chuck wasn’t stopping to thank the Gods of IKEA and premeditation, because he was too damn busy keeping his sex glazed eyes wide open and watching. Blue eyes looked up at him with a simmering fierceness; a smug smile grew on Casey’s face. “Yeah, keep ‘em like that ….”

“You – you want me to do wh –? Oh, I – oh, God….” This was Heaven and Hell, stretched between two points on the brink of snapping. Casey was serious. He was going to do this right here. The kid barely felt his butt shoved back along the edge of the counter, but he didn’t argue; not now, not when Casey’s tongue was damp and firm, cupping him along the side in long drags up and down. Looping around the crown and needling the tip under the incredibly sensitive spot right freaking there –

… what the hell.

“You – you stopped!”

“You closed your eyes …. Heh. Better,” Casey said appreciatively when Chuck blinked at him, dazed, but not letting his eyes drift shut. Oh, hell no. Not this time … not when he had John Casey on his knees peering up at him and his dick this hard.

“… Oh shit oh shit…” How was this even possible? In the time it had taken to set the plate on the counter, he was hanging on to ragged and shallow breaths. Chuck leaned back and swallowed hard, sinking into the long slow glides along his length, ones that teased his hips into a jerking motion. Holy God.

“Eyes up front, soldier.” The words were like an electric jolt, because if Casey was talking, then he certainly wasn’t doing … other things with that perfect indecent mouth of his. Chuck grabbed on to the edge of the countertop, tipped his chin down, blinking … and made damn sure to keep his eyes up front.

He’d schedule some time later to have a long talk with his boyfriend about post-mission acceptable parameters. But right now, Casey was wetting his lips, sinking down on the target again, and Chuck was listening. And rocking.

“Casey … this … you need to…” Too late too late too late…. The shudder started in his bare toes, curling them into the mat; the knife edge of pleasure cut through him. Chuck lurched his hips back, but at that moment Casey dug his fingers in, took him deeper and held him there.

It was a blinding eternity before he opened his eyes. With his heartbeat cranking in his ears, Chuck pried his lids open to see Casey standing squarely in front of him. He had that loose lazy smile on his face, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

Jesus. So, now it hit him. Here he was, standing in the middle of their apartment with his pants down, his dick wet with Casey’s saliva ….

His sister could walk in here! “God, Casey … what got into you – not that I’m complaining, but maybe next time? We can –”

“Damn right, next time. You shut your eyes again, Bartowski,” Casey told him with that same smug look. “We’ll have to keep practicing.” Grabbing a handful of scrawny ass, he gave him lewd squeeze and leaned in, pushing his tongue into his mouth and forcibly stealing a wet kiss. After taking a good long taste, Casey drew his head back and his forehead bunched up. “Chorizo? Tell me you didn’t eat all of it.”

-x-

He wasn’t sure what soft object was being tossed to him until it landed on his head. A pair of blue striped boxers. Chuck held them up by the waistband and glanced at Sarah, stretched out next to him. “Geez. Thanks. Does this mean my penance is over?”

“You earned them,” she chuckled, trying to be polite and not notice how awkward Chuck looked while lifting his hips to put them on under the blanket. “Humph. I only wish I would’ve known about the cooking while I was in Burbank. We could’ve swapped recipes or something.”

Chuck turned his head on the pillow and stared at her. “You do know,” he said, “that Casey carries a registered and loaded weapon at all times?” He winced when Sarah began to outright laugh. “I mean, his sense of humor on this topic … well, Sarah, you promised.”

“Oh, I lost track of time. Round three of the medicine you-know-who left for you.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you just did there.” Chuck reached over to the night table and sifted the pills into his palm. “Changing the subject like that. And is that code for something? Now we can’t even say David’s name?”

“We’re practicing for when Casey gets back.”

“Ha-ha.” Chuck sniffed, peeved that Sarah was enjoying a joke he didn’t get. Rolling his eyes at her, he finished off the medicine and readjusted the pillow. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

Sarah looked at the display of her phone. “He said he’d call. Nothing yet. No message or text either.”

Chuck glanced once more at the door and felt his brows furrow. “Wake me when he gets here?” Too tired to wait for an answer, he crooked his forearm over his head to block the lamplight and his eyes drooped shut. Laying there next to him, Sarah was quiet, and he wondered for a minute if she had fallen asleep first.

So, he almost didn’t catch her soft whisper. “Are you … okay?”

The kid didn’t move. The way she said it, her voice falling off at the end … she wasn’t asking about the flu, the screwed up Intersect in his head, his run in with an evil Fulcrum doctor.

Casey.

Because she knew his life had taken a twist four months ago, a crazy journey that had kicked off with the most unpredictable hand of fate. That night at the Montebello Training Academy … and another in Casey’s apartment.

 

When Chuck opened his eyes, it was three forty in the morning according to Casey’s alarm clock. The tangle of long limbs had rearranged themselves since he had drifted off, but a thick arm was still draped over his waist. He scrubbed his face and climbed out of bed, searching blindly for his sleep pants.

“Where’re ya going?” Casey sounded half asleep, lifting his head off the pillow a few inches to let his weary eyes sweep over him.

“Ellie’s … going to be worried if she gets up to start her shift and I’m not there. I have to go.”

Climbing through his bedroom window a few minutes later, he stopped to lock it. He almost never did that, and couldn’t figure out why his hand had instinctively turned the bolt to secure it. Maybe, for a few hours, to keep the world at bay. Give him time to sort out his messy, incongruous thoughts.

 

Tears came that night, after the first time. The quiet kind that no one hears.

He didn’t fight it. Tears for relief and acceptance, for the time he had lost along the way, for losing an identity of a person he never really was. For exposing a piece of his soul in cool blue eyes and powerful hands. Tears for discovering a missing piece of himself in a place he would never fathom finding it.

 

Chuck peeked out from under his arm and tipped his head to look at her. Sarah was studying his profile, and perhaps it was just an odd reflection, but he swore her eyes were glistening. She was still waiting for an answer.

“Sarah, I may not be the luckiest guy in the world,” he tapped his head to make his point, “but ... I’m okay now.”

-x-

Doctor Mark Reynolds lifted the slim chrome handle, but froze when a small smudge on the lower quarter panel of the classic Camaro caught his eye. Dammit. He had been vigilant in avoiding puddles and gravel, and he was proud of the knowledge that his Baby had never been sullied by dirt roads or inclement weather. That morning the air had been crisp and dry with no chance of rain until the evening; the perfect day for Penelope to stretch her legs a little.

Hastily pulling on his sleeve, he smoothed the fabric over the patch of dirt until the polish underneath shone through. Better.

Peering at his reflection, his grimace took on a predatory edge when he was struck with the reminder that the day had turned out far from perfect. The Asset, the Human Intersect, had disappeared right out from under their noses, for God sakes. As if it couldn’t get more fucked up, the kid was taken out of a top level secure bunker by his rogue handler. A lethal cowboy by the name of Major John Casey.

They had come so close. Reynolds shook his head in disgust at the hell his leaders would put him through until the Asset could be reacquired.

Because thanks to this cluster, the doctor would have to report back to the Fulcrum leadership council that the invaluable database they have been trying to track down since the Bryce Larkin debacle was no longer in government custody. No longer positioned to be transferred to Loudoun, where it would’ve been so simple to obtain him.

Fishing his keys out of his pocket, Reynolds popped the door open and tucked his briefcase behind the black leather seat. He climbed in and stretched his fingers over the steering wheel, staring out blankly over the long hood of the car.

Einstein. It had to be that prick. It was obvious the young doctor had developed a quick liking for the new detainee, attempting to protect him from the testing that was needed to confirm his identity. Somehow, someway, Einstein had a hand in this.

“Let’s find out what you know,” Reynolds said to himself, slipping his cell phone out of his jacket. “I think our young Doctor Einstein may get sidetracked on his way home tonight.” Sidetracked? Reynolds grinned. It would be easy enough to make arrangements to have him picked up outside his residence this evening and taken to a nearby facility – where Fulcrum’s methods of persuasion could be applied. “He’ll talk,” he muttered.

Reynolds’ oily smile slid onto his lips as he thumbed through his contacts on the phone. With his other hand, he adjusted the rear view mirror, catching his eyes for a flash –

– but the unexplainable, cold tickling sensation that he was being watched made his eyes drift off to the side, past a few cars parked nearby. The Sterling facility’s lot was usually almost empty this time in the evening, and Reynolds had figured it was his imagination, but his line of sight confirmed it.

Hell, he was being watched. A strange man was standing outside a white panel van, emblazoned with the words Phil’s Plumbing. Making no bones about openly scrutinizing him. Did he know that guy? Ridiculous. No scenario came to mind where he would’ve met the man.

Jesus, he was a big bastard too. Wearing dark grey overalls and a patch over his pocket that said Larry or Louie. Reynolds couldn’t quite make it out from this distance. That wasn’t what had captured his attention, though.

The giant’s eyes. Cold blue daggers. That didn’t even make sense. But looking again, he saw it wasn’t a mistake or just his perception. The plumber was smoking a hole in him with that arrogant gaze. What the fuck? Momentarily forgetting the phone, Reynolds narrowed his eyes at the man, waiting for him to finally realize he was being an ass and look away.  
But he didn’t look away. Instead, the large man kept his eyes pinned on him, forcing an odd prickle to race up the doctor’s arms. A sense that something was off.

His fingers fiddled with the door handle, but Reynolds let his hand rest there as he glanced over at the stranger again. It would be foolish to challenge a man who had fifty pounds of muscle on him. Probably drunk, he told himself. Looking to stir up some trouble, challenging him with a petty exercise of power. The sensible thing to do would be to ignore him. Just get the hell out of here.

A muscle flexed in Reynolds’ jaw as he turned to put the key in the ignition, except … he couldn’t stop himself from darting another quick look at Mister Plumber Asshole over there next to his shiny white van. It shouldn’t have been so easy for the man to piss him off, but he swore he could’ve seen the faintest mock salute in his direction. His fingers stilled, keys forgotten, when the grizzly bear reached into his pocket.

“What are you up to?” Reynolds wondered quietly, his face hardening as he grit his teeth. But a second later, his eyes flared wide when he saw the plumber had pulled out a cigar and a small silver lighter. That dickhead. The stranger was watching him while he chewed on the tip, lighting it with a deliberate flick of the flame. Then, those cool eyes focused on him as he took a long drag, let it out slow and easy.

Jerk. Reynolds’ lips formed a straight line and he rolled his eyes at the man. This piece of dirt was just trying to get a rise of out of him. The doctor hesitated briefly, but then he did something impulsive. From the safety of his locked vehicle, he flipped him the bird and turned the key in the ignition.

That … wasn’t the usual sound of his baby purring at him. What was that whirring – and that click –

-x-

The blistering red-orange ball of flame rolled out the car windows, flaring up in long tentacled arms towards a blue patch of sky. A greasy black cloud of smoke curled up in its wake, sending a vaporous trail though the singed leaves of a maple tree that overhung the parking lot.

Casey shrugged. His shoulders had barely stiffened at the blast. Hell, he had stopped flinching at detonations sometime back in the eighties. Taking one last earthy puff of the Cohiba, he snuffed it out on the asphalt with the toe of his boot and slipped on his Ray-Bans.

A fiery yet controlled blast on government property was sure to roust the cavalry, and with one last look at the undulating flames, Casey snatched the keys from his pocket and turned to leave. But a twinge of guilt made him stop dead in his tracks, and he pivoted towards the wreckage one more time.

“Heh. Sweet-ass vintage Camaro, cherry red, rally wheels….” He whistled under his breath. “Hate to see her go that way.”

Heaving a sigh, Casey climbed in the van and pulled out his phone. Item number one on his list was complete, and unlike the pesky Doctor Zarnow, this doctor was going home in an ashtray. He made damn sure it would stick. Now he could place the call to Walker, green lighting the next step. She’d know it was her cue to finalize the plans for the CIA transport plane, the one that had been covertly requisitioned for their flight out of this hell hole tonight. The girl could be conniving, a shrewd operator, and he was thankful for the hundredth time she was on his team for this one.

The day had changed only one thing, one step in a small way, but nothing shattering. So much of the road home was still in front of them. As a rule, Casey didn’t pray; he’s not one for mumbling supplications that smash the idea he doesn’t have ultimate control, and he was on the fence if praying was for pussies anyway. But if he felt a brief flash of weakness, he might send one up through the billowing flume. They’d need something bigger on their side to get there, to get safe again.

-x-End Chapter Five Part Seven-x-


	12. Chapter Six

Casey vs. the Way Back

(Chapter Six)

-x-

Tap Tap

Casey rolled his knuckles lightly against the door of room one thirty-one and waited for the sound of approaching feet on the other side. When he didn’t hear them right away, he glanced over his shoulder and tapped lightly again.

“C’mon Walker, move your ass. Broad daylight here.” Just as he reached up to knock one more time, the door slid open and the blonde peered out at him, blinking against the sunlight.

“Look who’s here.” Sarah’s eyes focused on the uncomfortable image in front of her. “That’s a nice look for you, Casey,” she laughed softly, appraising the medium-sized plumber overalls squeezed over an extra large-sized frame. “How did you even get that thing on?” She caught sight of his SIG Sauer stuffed in his tool belt. “Well, if all else fails, that’ll take care of the clog, hmm?”

“Stuff it, CIA.” Casey crowded her to the side and strode in to the darkened motel room. “How’s –”

“Shhh.” Tilting her head towards the sleeping occupant of the bed, she closed the door behind him. “Let him get some rest.”

Casey’s eyes landed on the rumpled covers over the bed, the long body sprawled out underneath them. The kid appeared to be out cold. “How long?”

Still smiling at his get-up, Sarah glimpsed at her watch. “An hour or so.”

Jesus. Casey really didn’t want to have to play the part of concerned boyfriend in front of his smart ass ex-partner, but the way she was pretending not to canvass his every move left the NSA agent no choice. Doing his best to ignore her, Casey sidled up to the edge of the bed and studied Chuck’s slack face. He was dead to the world, but seemed to be breathing easier. The agent felt his shoulder muscles unwind just a little as he lifted a hand to the kid’s forehead. Still warm, but not anywhere near this morning’s sweltering body temperature.

“He’s better,” Sarah said quietly. “He was worried about you, Casey.”

Casey grunted. He sure as hell wasn’t going to fall for that ploy. Baiting him. Trying to get him to tune into his non-existent lady feelings. Well, no dice, sister.

Positioning his body to block her line of sight, Casey brought his hand up and swept the pad of his thumb over the kid’s temple, lightly tucked a mess of curls behind his ear –

Which means he didn’t expect the long arm that wriggled out from under the blanket, swatting blindly at his fingers.

“G’ way, Sarah. Sleep. I told you everything, n’ leave me alone.”

Casey moved his hand and gazed down at Chuck. “Told …?” Turning around to face Sarah, he jammed his thumb in the tool belt and raised a brow in her direction. “… the hell?" he mouthed.

Sarah shrugged, then whispered, “Don’t ask me. Does he always talk in his sleep like that?”

“Heh. Usually the one time he is quiet.” Ah, shit. Casey cringed inwardly, wishing he could suck those words back in.

“Oh?” The blonde cocked her head and smiled. “Good to know.”

“Screw you, Walker,” he mumbled, turning to straighten the blankets so that they covered the bare knees that were poking out. “Wait a minute. What the –?” Cautiously, Casey lifted an edge of the cover and peeked underneath. “He’s still almost naked? Didn’t you give him the clothes?”

Sarah shrugged again. “He said he likes to sleep in the buff, but I told him to at least put on a pair of boxers.” Her grin blossomed. “You would certainly know that, right, Casey?”

The agent frowned at her toothy smile, and vowed he would get to the bottom of her look – but, first, he had more pressing matters, such as freeing his bottom from the too small plumber coveralls. “Dammit,” he said, pulling down on one of the legs. It did absolutely nothing to relieve the strain of stretched fabric over his crotch. Casey put a finger in the air and made a circle, signaling to her she needed to look away. “Turn around. Unless you want another chance to see the show.”

Sarah took one more calculating look at him and snickered before pivoting around on her heel. “Casey, I have to ask: did you mug a midget plumber? I mean, whoever you left naked when you stole that disguise wasn’t even close to your size. You couldn’t find one with a little more ... fabric?” She glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. “I mean, that doesn’t really –”

“I didn’t exactly have the pick of the litter, you know! Ow. Fuck.” Casey stopped to growl in annoyance while he tried to heave it down his shoulders. “How does this …? Besides, if I waited for one of them that was my size, we’d still be – and I should warn you, keep your ass turned around or you’re gonna see more than you bargained for,” he told her. “I had to go commando under here or I wouldn’t have been able to get it on.” Giving up on the constricting zipper, he pulled until he heard the screech of ripping fabric. “God dammit.” He breathed out in relief. “This has been in my crack for the past two hours. Gotta …. get out of this thing.”

“Shhh! You’re making a lot of noise there, Major. Don’t want to wake up your boyfr –”

Casey cut her off with the sound of another healthy rip. And, frankly, he didn’t give a shit what it sounded like. At least she had stopped yammering. God, it felt good to get rid of this fig leaf.

“Can I turn around yet?”

“Throw me something from my duffle over there, will ya?”

“I take that as a no.” Sarah rifled through his clothes until she found a pair of dark jeans and a black polo. She held them up over her shoulder without turning around. “Still with the black, huh? Clothing does come in other colors, you know.”

“Hand it over,” Casey ordered, but not waiting, he swiped the clothes out of her grasp. “Boxers?”

“Oh. Sorry.” She raised a pair and tried not to inspect them too carefully. “Are these yours or –“

A large mitt reached around her shoulder and they were snagged before she could finish the question. “Those are mine. Hands off.”

“Of course they are. After all, black does go with your temper.”

“Speaking of which,” Casey said, pulling on the boxers, “when are we meeting up with your boyfriend again? I have something for him.” Reaching for the tool belt that he had set on the nightstand, he pulled out his handgun and loaded a round. It locked into place with a satisfying clack – loud enough for the blonde to spin around and give him her ‘back off’ face.

“To clarify yet again, he’s not my boyfriend. Second of all, nice boxers, but can you warn a girl?” Shaking her head so that a few longs locks fell from her face, Sarah folded her arms and turned around with her back to him. “Pointing that thing while you're in your underwear kind of ruins the look you're after. Really, Casey? Geez, get some pants on.”

“Heh. Doesn’t matter if he’s your boy toy or not,” Casey pointed out as he tugged his jeans up over his hips. “After that stunt he pulled in the bunker – trying to pull one over us – well, let’s just say when we meet up again, you might want to stand back.” The agent zipped up his jeans and lifted his handgun, squinting down his laser sight. “Wouldn’t wanna get some stray bits of Larkin on those pretty little boots of yours you like so much, eh?” he said, ducking his head towards her feet.

The talk of Bryce and his impending death – if Casey had any say in the matter – brought a more serious mood into the motel room. Casey could see he had gotten a reaction from his ex-partner; Sarah’s back went rigid at the mention of the douche-bag. It quieted for a minute, only the hum of the heating unit churning out stagnate air to break the silence.

“You know that’s a mistake, Casey,” she said stiffly. The rustling noise of the shirt going over his head told her it was safe to turn around, and she was pinning him with cool eyes as he pulled it down over his middle. “It’s one thing to kill a Fulcrum traitor planted in one of our facilities. It’s another thing altogether to murder one of our own. Especially when that one is the CIA’s golden boy.”

“Aren’t we being protective of our ex-boy toy.” Casey eyed her while he lifted the back of his polo and shoved the gun in its usual position under his waistband. “He’s next on my list. I’ll handle him. My way.”

The blonde rolled her eyes at him. “Your list? Something tells me you’re not talking about your next stop in the fresh produce section –”

Casey’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that suppose to –?”

“– So I think it’s fair to assume that the Fulcrum agent –”

“I handled that my way, too,” Casey said coolly, stuffing his extra clips in his black duffle. “It’s done.”

“No tracks?”

“Jesus.” Dragging his fingers through his hair, Casey just looked at her blandly for a few moments. “Do I look like an amateur to you?”

“You are many things, John Casey, but never that,” she sighed. “If I may ask, how did you –”

“Let’s just say I did his loved ones a favor,” Casey said. “Cremation’s taken care of already.”

Sarah looked over his shoulder and softened her voice to a whisper. “How does Chuck handle all of this?”

“He’s on a need to know basis.” Casey gave her hard look that warned her to keep her cake eater shut. “And he sure as hell doesn’t need to know everything I do.”

“He’s your boyfriend.”

“And my asset. The Intersect.” Casey kept his eyes fixed on her face as he set the bag on the floor. “My job is to protect it. Sometimes not knowing what you’re up against is the only way to keep thinking you can win,” he said evenly. “You should know that, Walker.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it. I just hope you’re ready when he asks.” Sarah tilted her head towards one of the chairs at the table and changed the subject. “Sit. You need to eat.” Pulling out the white Styrofoam containers, she scooted them over the table top to stop in front of him. “I have to admit. A traitorous doctor… who happens to be a Fulcrum agent. Well, I’m glad you handled it.” She glanced at the bed and bit on her lip. “Who could do that to Chuck? Hurt him like that?”

Casey grunted in assent, reminded once again that he actually missed her as a partner. Yeah, so maybe she was CIA, and a woman to boot, but dammit, she had heart and guts.

“He’ll stay dead too, not like that little dick head you left with.” Casey sniffed one of the pulpy looking dips with a roasted beet and a sprig of parsley stuffed in it. He wrinkled his nose. “What the hell is this shit you fed him, anyway?”

“It’s baba ganoush.” Sarah swiped the container out of his hands. “And here, I thought you knew your way around the kitchen.” One eyebrow arched at him in that know-it-all look women had perfected for centuries. “At least, that’s the way I heard the story.”

Casey pushed the container to the side and eyed her suspiciously. “Lemme see that slop in the other box.” Not waiting, he took it out of her hands and peered into the container. “Eh. The stuff they feed you in an Afghani prison smells better than this.”

“You have to be starving, so just quit your bellyaching and eat it.” Reaching into one of the bags, she pulled out an extra pita loaf. “Luckily your boyfriend didn’t find this.” She glanced behind her at the sleeping form curled up under the blankets. “I don’t know what they fed him there, but you’ll be happy to know he found his appetite.”

Casey picked up a fork and dug into the shawarma and vegetables. Hell, yes, he was famished. When did he eat last? Sometime yesterday, he guessed, though he had no memory of the meal or the nameless town and bland diner he had stopped at.

“I thought we were getting burgers,” he groused, taking a huge bite anyway.

“I thought we were talking about Chuck.” Her demeanor turned serious, her potent gaze studying him thoughtfully for a second or two. “He … I mean I can tell ….” Sarah hesitated, then said, “He loves you, you know.”

Oh, hell no. This was not gonna happen. Not on his watch, comrade. Casey took another forkful and wiped his mouth. “Got a drink for me?”

Sarah flicked her eyes at him and ignored the deflection. “Fine. You can play that way, but I have something to say and I want you to listen.” She paused while she passed him the cup. “Sorry, the ice melted hours ago.” He took it from her and glanced into a pair of blue eyes – and with no warning, she did something he did not expect. She had the boldness to touch his arm. “Don’t screw this up, Casey. Being a spy and being a partner is an … almost impossible situation. You need to take care of him. Chuck. Not the damn Intersect.”

Casey put down his fork and grabbed his drink. How fucked up was the world, rolling sideways on its axis and puking up a hairball, if Sarah Walker was trying to dish out relationship advice to him. Christ.

The soft stuff was not up his alley, so why she was even trying this …. When was Chuck gonna wake up, anyway? But, oh, hell – the way she was looking at him? She was not going to drop it until he at least acknowledged what she had said. Here goes, he thought.

“What’s up your ass, Walker?” Setting down the cup, he dove in with his fork again without looking up from his plate of food. “Sorry you left in such a damn hurry? Maybe you missed out on something?”

Direct hit. Not literally, but it worked, because she was bristling. The disturbing thing was that he didn’t know why he said it. Hell, wasn’t she here helping him – helping them? Okay, so there was a slim chance it had something to do with the twenty-seven nights in a row where he had to hear the kid through the surveillance, sniffing and sniveling into his pillow after she walked out with the slimy butt plug. And maybe it felt good to get in one dig at least. For Chuck, anyway.

“I don’t want to relive the past.” Sarah’s eyes darted away for a second. “I did what I had to do.”  
After screwing him over and leaving without a word, Casey added in his head. God, she sucked at relationships. Way more than he does. And knowing his storied past, that was saying a lot.

Casey looked up from his plate, a hundred thoughts of how he wanted to counter her point racing through his mind. “Yeah, well, trust me. The kid … recovered from your untimely departure. Pretty damn well too.” He had to take another gulp to hide the guilty smirk. Why was this conversation making him feel like the fox that raided the chicken coop and got a taste of the Colonel’s finest? Casey gave her a self-satisfied look over the top of his drink. “It’s no skin off your back anymore,” he said. “I’d let it go.”

“I admit,” Sarah started, “it was hard to see him at first.” Glimpsing over at the bed, she absently fiddled with one of the napkins. “But he seems to have recovered pretty significantly.” A smile flitted over her lips. “He told me a few details about you two.”

Deliberately, Casey put his fork down to glare at her. He had picked up on a thinly veiled teasing in her tone – and he damn well didn’t like it. “He told you …” and the agent paused to fold his thick arms over his chest, “what, exactly?”

“Stand down, Major,” she said, smiling again. “We just had a friendly discussion.” Sarah bent over in her chair, and lifting her pant cuff, Casey heard the zip of Velcro. The strap of knives landed on the table with a thump. “It was nothing, really.” She pulled out the first one, held it up to the light, and began to leisurely polish the blade with a clean napkin while eyeing him fully. “He told me that you taught him how to … shoot a gun for the first time.”

“Damn straight.” Why the fuck was she looking at him like that? Casey chewed slowly and took a drink. “Who knew the kid had a good aim, eh?” he said distantly. “The right practice and he can actually line up and take a shot – what the hell, Walker?” The agent was cut off when a small stream of pop spurted out the side of her mouth. Casey watched as she pounded her chest and covered her lips.

“Sorry,” she said after a minute. “It went down the wrong … Soooo, the practice … it paid off?”

“Yeah,” Casey replied, a little wary, wondering where the hell she was going with this. “He’s not a complete rookie anymore.”

Sarah had to take another quick drink and wiped her chin. “Oh?”

“I put him through some basic training. Got him in shape,” Casey said carefully. “’Course, when we’re out in the field, he still only gets a tranq. Girl gun.” He looked up at her. “Uh, no offense, Walker. The kid needs a lot more training simulation under his belt until I’d hand him a live firearm.” Casey snorted. “If ever. There are some places he can stay away from. He’s just blow his damn pecker off in the process.”

“His … oh.” One of the knives slipped out of her hand but she managed to catch it. “That would be … unfortunate, considering the whole relation –”

“All right, Walker.” Casey put his elbows on the table and studied her flushed face. His agent senses were sparking like flares. Something was up. “What else did he say?”

“Oh, that … that was about it.” She went back to casually polishing her knives. “Just that you’ve shown him the ropes since I left.” She leaned on the word ropes like a greasy patch under her tire … really drawing it out. “Just two friends catching up.”

“Really.” Casey didn’t even need to look up into that smug face of hers to know there was no way in hell she’s telling the truth. Setting down his fork, he made a mental note to grill the kid later when they were safely away from Sterling, Virginia. He might not know how to get Walker to spill, but Bartowski … Heh.

“Hand me that,” Casey said, nodding towards a clean napkin that hadn’t been used to polish her throwing knives. He only hoped Walker was astute enough to know it was a signal that this dialogue was over. “Hope this shit you forced on us doesn’t make us sick, hmm?”

“You’re welcome.” Sarah glanced at his empty box he had thumbed off to the side of the table. “Wow – nice. Two growing boys with an appetite,” she remarked. “Chuck saved you some baklava if you’d like. I understand it may not be up to par with anything you make in the kitch –”

“You know,” he cut her short, taking one of the pastries from box, “speaking of things that make me sick, your dickhead partner seems to have rubbed you the wrong way.” Casey polished off the baklava in one bite and licked his fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Find out he spends more time in front of the mirror than you do?”

“What are you getting at?” she asked, and he couldn’t help but see she was now peeved.

“I mean, why don’t you share, Walker.” Casey climbed up from his seat and grabbed his cleaning tools from his duffle. It was time to spin this around, and watching her squirm while he field stripped his SIG was going to have to be the evening’s entertainment. “What happened between you two?”

Sarah disregarded him, concentrating on a smudge, polishing with a little more pressure until she got a high gloss gleam on the blade. After half a minute, she looked up and Casey caught her eyes drifting over to Chuck’s back where he lay sleeping. “Let’s just say … I caught him giving private target lessons at the gun range to a … mutual acquaintance of ours.”

Casey frowned at the odd analogy as he disengaged the SIG’s slide assembly and examined it. Gun range? He quashed the feeling that he was missing something here. Now was not the time. They worked in silence until the click of his magazine setting in place made her look up.

“Sounds like your partner crossed both of us, CIA,” Casey said, his voice rough as gravel. “I offered several times – hell, several times in the last hour – to kill him. Looks like I’d be doing both of us a favor.” Squinting down the barrel, he lined up an imaginary shot towards the door. “Just say the word. I can clear that right up.”

“Casey.” Even in the dim light at the table, he could see her eyes go wide with surprise. “Are you nuts? He’s my partner. Your boyfriend’s ex-best friend and college roommate. And, can I point out, a highly regarded CIA operative. You can’t just blow him away."

Casey shrugged and snapped the clip in place with a sharp clack. “You don’t think so? What’s the matter, Walker? You got all soft on me while you were saving the world with that prick?”

“Huh. I almost forgot how stubborn you are.” Sarah blew a breath, sending her bangs fluttering up. “I know this may upset your thinking, Casey, but the answer to every problem is not a box of cartridges or five pounds of C4. Sometimes, we need to be adults and solve our problems using –”

“Save it,” Casey muttered. “God, you sound just like –”

“Ah – of course he would’ve had this little conversation with you. If you won’t listen to me, will you listen to him?”

Casey was too busy scowling to reply.

“Good,” Sarah said, slipping a blade into the holster. “And keep this in mind. No matter how much you hate to hear it, Bryce and I are still the CIA’s most successful team.” She was wearing her poker face, but Casey had seen that enough to know there was an ocean of bitterness under the surface. “If we split up the team … we miss a mark, fail one time too many, well … we let Fulcrum get closer than we already have. Maybe they succeed the next time.” She shifted her head and let her eyes settle on Chuck. “I have to stay with Bryce.”

“Eh.” Okay, the advice department was a little light, but did he look like fucking Dear Abby? Besides, the grunt said it all, didn’t it? Did she really think staying with Bryce would help the kid in the long run? Christ. Go figure it out, sister.

“Thanks, Casey,” Sarah said, trying to look unaffected and failing. “I missed having these deep soul searching discussions with you.”

“If you’re looking for cotton candy heart-to-heart, or whatever you girls call it, go wake up the kid and have some more lady talk.” Unloading the clip, he disengaged the laser sight with a crisp snap. “You want an unfiltered advice on how I would deal with him, come to me.”

“Wow.” Sarah cast him an appraising look. “You are still the most intense bastard I’ve ever worked with.” Then, she added, “I’m just thankful you got your rough edges smoothed out … maybe a little bit.”

Casey grunted one more time to set the record straight.

“Nuh-uh,” Sarah argued. “Fight it all you want. I see it.” Another glossy blade slid into the holster. “But to go back to your offer to kill Bryce, no thanks. We have a working relationship now and that’s all I need.”

“Humph.” All of this talk about smooth edges and mucky relationships was making a red prickly rash spring up on his forearms. Casey set down his gun and scratched his arm – it really did make him itch, for Chrissakes – and methodically used the brush to clean the barrel. Enough already. This shit made him want to gouge his eardrums out.

Across the room, Chuck made a snuffling noise and rolled on his back. Slanting him a look, Sarah studied the kid for a long minute while he slept, and turned on Casey. “Will you two be ready to leave tonight?”

Casey just gave her a look, and satisfied the gun was clean, set down the brush. “You could say we’ve seen all the sights in this two bit town worth seeing, so yeah, we’ll be ready.” Pushing away from the table, he packed up the cleaning tools and rolled them into the duffle bag. “When?”

“I have to file my report with Beckman, let her know the trail is cold, and I’ll be back here by ten.”

Sarah stuffed the empty paper bags together, trying to be quiet about it. “The plane will be waiting, as promised, courtesy of the CIA.”

“And you better be right about this, Walker – that Beckman has no knowledge one of her jets will be used by a rogue agent and her priceless intelligence asset.” Casey scowled when he repeated the name of his former superior officer. “Wouldn’t that singe her four stars. You’re sure it’s completely off the record?”

“Anywhere you want to go,” she assured him. “An associate owes me one. He’s a friend, Casey, and I trust him. He knows the pilot and he’ll be on board until you land in Santa Barbara. No questions, no flight plans. Entirely untraceable.”

When Casey grabbed the sling handle of the duffle, he looked up to see that Sarah was eyeballing him, wanting to add her two cents. “Fuck,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “Just say it, Walker.”

“Okay. Tell me you changed your mind.” She folded her arms over her sweater. “Casey, it’s too risky.”

“Don’t need you to tell me the math.” Casey set the duffle at the foot of the bed without disturbing the kid. “Got the genius here to tell me what the odds are.” He opened the bag and fished out his shaving kit, letting his eyes leisurely stroll up Chuck's bare chest and shoulders above the rumpled blanket.

Damn. He wanted to stretch out there next to him, to give into the urge to touch him, tangle his fingers in his hair…

… but, shit. Not with the blonde snooping with those beady blue eyes of hers. Even as he turned his body to block her view, he felt the heat of her eyes on the back of his head. Curious about him and Chuck, yes, but more than that. Doubting him. His decision. Wondering if the cold-school killer on the verge of going head long into the fire, telling the DNI to go fuck itself, had lost it completely.

Casey blew out sigh. So what if he felt a tiny spear of apprehension running through him, the unknowns that Beckman would have waiting in California. He’d never let on to that. He was weaned on one concept, for Chrissakes: choke it down and keep going. “My plan hasn’t changed.”

“And I still can’t talk you out it, I suppose.”

“Just get me to Vandenberg and have an SUV waiting. Let me worry about Burbank, Walker.” Casey snagged his razor and shaving cream from the kit and shot her an unyielding look. He shouldn’t have to tell her that it had to be home or nowhere. Chuck wouldn’t have his life anywhere else, any other way. “The plan’s the same, and I don’t need the threat explained to me.”

“You know something, John.” She leaned against the table and waited for him to look at her. “I left because my emotions were beginning to cloud my judgment. Put him in danger.” Her eyes roved over towards the bed. “Don’t you do the same.”

“Fucking great. Now the CIA is sharing life lessons.”

“Casey, I’m just trying to –”

“Uh, guys?” They both turned towards the sleepy sounding voice. Casey’s gaze shifted over his boyfriend’s face; that weirdly angled nose, the wild curls, and dark eyes that were now wide open and staring up at them. Chuck blinked away the sleep. “I thought spies were supposed to be stealthy? Be able to throw their voices? You two, on the other hand, sound like a freaking herd of buff –”

“How long have you been awake?” Casey asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“Just a few minutes, but geez, do you think you guys can –”

“Chuck, I’m glad you’re awake,” Sarah broke in, exchanging glances between Chuck’s bleary eyes and Casey’s pissed off expression. “Now would be the time to talk to Casey about his plan. I don’t think –”

“Stop.” Chuck held up a hand at them. “Both of you.”

Casey wasn’t certain if it was an auditory illusion, but the voice that cut in was precise. Authoritative. If that wasn’t enough, he saw that the kid had levered himself up on his elbows and was watching the agents, brown eyes filled with resolve.

“You two are going to listen to me, because frankly, you both suck at the whole talking thing. Nhyett,” he added, no nonsense, when both spies opened their mouths to protest. “Enough. My turn. You.” He gave his boyfriend a quick nod. “Sarah did plenty for both of us, wouldn’t you agree, and I don’t believe the way to repay her is with a demonstration of your colorful terminology directed at her. Am I right here?

Casey grunted, miffed, and dodged his eyes in the direction of the foot of the bed.

“Uh-huh. Thought so. And you, Ms. Spy and Mighty,” Chuck went on, turning his attention to Sarah. “I … don’t know what his plan is – how crazy or off the wall it may seem to you – but I know this.” The kid lowered his voice and reached out to brush his fingers over Casey’s hand, entwining his fingers when he tried to pull away. “Once he’s hell bent to do something, somehow, he’ll make it work.” One last soft caress, and Casey did manage to get free. For that, Chuck looked up at him and rolled his eyes. “See? God help anyone who gets in his way.”

Sarah’s glance settled on Casey, and she shook her head at her ex-partner. “You’re right, Chuck,” she said after an awkward moment. “If there’s a bigger obstinate ass on this planet, –”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, CIA –”

“– I’d like to meet him. Maybe I should say God help Beckman.” Wearing a humorless smile, she sauntered back to the table and picked up her cell phone. “You two need to be ready by ten, okay?”

“Not soon enough for me.” The kid sunk back on the pillow and looked up at Casey. A questioning eyebrow rose, and Chuck’s tenacity from a minute ago faded. “Where ever you’ve been, you look worn-out, and I feel awful about that,” he said quietly. “Get some sleep.”

“Need a shower first,” Casey shrugged, but with Walker’s back turned, he leaned down and left a kiss on sweat-dampened curls. The apple-scented shampoo that had to be Sarah’s smelled ridiculously good on the kid, so he grazed his lips over his cheek and breathed it in again. “While I’m in there, find a way to get rid of her,” the agent whispered, starting to stand.

“Casey, wait.” The kid grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. When Casey sat, he skimmed his fingers lightly over his knuckles and twined his hand again. “I meant it,” Chuck said, so low Walker would never hear him. “We’ll make it work.”

-x-

“Shit, here we go.”

The ping indicated that the Castle video feed from Washington was coming online. Lieutenant Brandon McClure straightened the papers in front of him and jumped to his feet, standing tall next to the conference table. He had only a moment to rake his fingers through his sandy blonde hair and smooth his shirt until Beckman’s perturbed face appeared on the screen.

“McClure.” The General wasted no time getting to the point. “I’m afraid that the level of incompetence recently witnessed on the West coast,” and she raised a brow at him to ensure her barb hit the mark, “has been superseded by new levels of ineptitude here on the East coast.”

“Ma’am?” He folded his hands behind his back, wondering how an agent could chime in to that comment from a superior and not get an ass lashing. “Are you saying –”

“What I’m saying,” she replied, drumming her fingers on the armrest, “is that the team here has failed thus far to apprehend Major Casey and his asset. The search in Pennsylvania has come up dry, exactly as the rest of the leads. The trail of false transactions … video surveillance from airports, city streets – all of it is inconcludable.”

“I knew it.” McClure glanced down at the table. He is getting help from the inside.

“I wasn’t quite finished.” The General’s scowl deepened. “My technicians are chasing their tails.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “In the meantime, a rogue agent has vanished with an extremely valuable asset,” she said. “McClure, I need you back in Washington. Some of the idiots on my staff still believe they may be in the Sterling vicinity.”

“Yes, ma’am,” was all he could manage.

In truth, McClure couldn’t let her see that he had to bite down on his lip, because by the time Beckman had sputtered out her anger with the East coast team’s failure to acquire the fugitives, he felt a wide know-it-all grin start to grow. That would only serve to piss her off.

For now, he blocked out her face, the fluorescent lights of Castle, and restrained himself from bouncing on his heels at the prospect that he – Lieutenant Brandon McClure, Special Agent and Junior Assistant to the Director of the DNI – had a damn good inkling where the two were headed.

McClure had no intention of sharing that bit of Intel with Beckman. Not after the perpetual ass chewing of the past week, the degradation in front of his team, his reassignment … no fucking way. The information he had convinced Danny to give up, the revelation that the Walker cunt had requisitioned a bird to arrive in the next twelve hours at Vandenberg, while she returned to Tripoli with her partner – it all made sense. The major and his asset – his fuck buddy – would be on that plane. But, the General had chosen to ignore his hunch in the first place. Trusted that wily CIA bitch for some ungodly reason, and now? Beckman would expect him to cough up the information so that she or another team could collect the accolades.

Not happening, bitch. This one was his and his alone.

“Ma’am, permission to speak.” McClure squared his shoulders and looked her dead in the eyes. When she nodded, he went on, “Before I return, I believe we may have one last opportunity to ascertain the whereabouts of the Major.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “What is it?”

“Based upon my knowledge of the asset - the way he thinks,” McClure said, making no effort to hide his contempt, “I believe he’ll try to contact his sister before they disappear off the radar for good.” He painted on a look of blank obedience, while underneath his simmering belligerence boiled away. “And most likely his friends, the people he works with at the Buy More. One in particular. Who knows? He may have found a way to do that already.”

“Go on, lieutenant.” The General glanced down at a report and began to skim it, a sure fire signal that her patience was ebbing and that he needed to talk fast. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m respectfully suggesting,” he began, stepping closer to the monitor, “that I assume my cover identity one more time – at the store. That of a corporate quality auditor. I can infiltrate the team, the uh, Nerds as they call themselves, as well as the green shirts, and pick up any chatter first hand that may have eluded our team or our surveillance. I’ll also return back to the apartment to surveille Echo Park. See if the team missed anything else, ma’am.”

An assignment which would conveniently allow him to move freely, to act alone for the next twenty-four hours. He’d bring in the Major and his asset on his own, show East and West how it’s done, and when it was over, assume his spot as Senior Assistant to Director of the DNI. Piece of cake.

“You seem eager to get back to that place.” The General scrutinized him with an unimpressed stare. “Major Casey was always eager to find a way out of there. He said he preferred a fox hole in Siberia.” Weighing her options, she looked to the side for a second or two and heaved a breath. “Very well. Our other leads have … dried up… at the moment, and your assessment of the asset is accurate at least. It’s true. We are closely monitoring all channels of communication – his sister, his friends,” Beckman confirmed. “But there’s a risk that the same false leads could be diverting chatter around my team. An infiltration of the store and the Bartowski residence might be worthwhile before you circle back to DC.”

“Your orders, ma’am?”

Beckman studied him for a long moment before pushing the report to the side. “You’ll go back undercover at the Buy More for twenty-four hours.” A stern look crossed her face for his benefit. “And McClure?”

“Yes, General?” For the next minute, he could play the part of dutiful soldier. Lifting his chin higher, he gave her his full attention. “Is there something else?”

“Don’t screw it up.” The feed ended abruptly, and before he could open his mouth, McClure was staring at the NSA emblem.

“Thank you, General,” he replied to the blank monitor, his tone cemented with sarcasm. “But I don’t plan on screwing up this time.”

He hated the general for making him feel inadequate, dredging up doubts and rage that his abilities were not up to snuff with his training or his peers.

Well, her holy highness. McClure would deal with that later. At this minute, he had permission granted to bug out without pesky questions and statusing every four hours. That meant he had a plane to meet at Vandenberg in the next twelve hours.

Checking his gun in the holster mechanically, McClure fished out his keys, and strode past the conference table to the stairs. The General had one point accurate, at least. Up until now, this mission had been a series of missteps and lost opportunities to get the job done.

But the tide of luck was changing. He wasn’t going to miss this time.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Six-x-


	13. Chapter Seven

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Seven)

-x-

“I should tell you … I lied.” Chuck rolled over on his back and blinked up at Casey. “I didn’t hear just the end of your conversation. I was awake, well, for most of it anyway.”

“That so?” The agent let his eyes drift over the kid’s face, and unknotting the towel from his waist thoughtlessly, he flung it on one of the chairs. Casey stood there, naked and not giving a damn, as he rooted through his duffle bag. “We thought you were out cold,” he remarked, not looking up.

“It was a banner day for Charles Carmichael.” Chuck pointed a sleepy smile at him. “He outwitted two spies at the same time.”

“Carmichael. Heh.” Casey tossed aside a pair of jeans, giving him the once over. “You look a little less like shit tonight.” 

“Why, I’m flattered. Thank you, John.” The kid sniffed and squinted right back at him. “I missed you too, by the way.” 

A small quirk of Casey’s mouth told Chuck his boyfriend got the message. Tucking away his shaving kit in the bag, he turned to him. “Sounds like you and Walker were twittering like a bunch of school girls while I was gone.” He raised a brow in the kid’s direction. “You didn’t –?”

“Oh, no.” Chuck’s eyes veered towards the door and he got busy straightening his blanket. “We were just getting caught up. Her life since she left …. We talked about … Bryce….”

At the mention of his ex-best friend, Casey made a lethal sound in the back of his throat. “Didn’t your overprotective big sister teach you to speak with reverence when you’re talking about the dead? Oh, wait.” He made a point of checking the clock on the night table. “I guess we have a few more hours before that rule kicks in.”

“Hah.” Chuck brought a hand up in the air. “You can stop there with the cynicism. Forget I brought it up.” 

As if Casey was the type to forget. The kid could see his hands had clenched into fists as he fished out a pair of blue striped boxers from his duffel. “We need to get some shuteye, twerp. Walker will be here in a few hours.”

Shuteye? Seriously? Propping himself up on the pillow, Chuck’s brown eyes focused across the room. Rest wasn’t possible, not at this juncture. Not with the sight of his naked boyfriend, who had just stepped out of the shower, poised there at the foot of the bed with beads of water still trailing down his legs and back … cooling a path down the slope of his ass cheeks as he stood there. Tilting his head, Chuck watched him bend over to pull on his boxers, studying the way the muscles on his back swelled and rolled with the movement of his arms.

Hmm. Nice. 

What did Casey expect? Wasn’t his right as his partner to stop and rake his eyes over him when Casey put himself on display so carelessly? Besides, it had been two weeks that felt like an eternity – before the wedding, the god awful seduction mission when everything in his life turned upside down – since Chuck had gotten a good look at his wide chest, the dip and curve of his abdomen, down to his –

“Drop the blanket, kid.”

“Huh?” Somehow distracted, he hadn’t noticed Casey rounding the bed to stand over him. Oh. And that look. Automatically, Chuck felt his fingers dig into the cover, pulling it up his chest. “Uh, is there …? I mean, as much as I would –”

“Jesus.” Casey shook his head and grabbed the corner of the sheet. “Do you really think I’d give ya the spicy beef when you’re still a walking pandemic? Now, pull it back, ‘cause I know you won’t like the way I do it.”

“Something tells me we’re not talking about pastrami on rye,” Chuck noted, miffed. He dragged the blanket up a little higher. “You know, it’s a good thing I understand what you actually mean when you talk like that, because really? Anyone else would be offended on so many levels by – ah! Gimme that!”

The agent would’ve made a first-rate Houdini. The way he could make a blanket disappear into thin air with one whoosh would’ve been quite impressive – if Chuck didn’t almost fall off the bed trying to lunge after it. Rolling his eyes, Casey slung it back over the kid’s hips to restore a smidgen of his dignity. 

“What are you doing?” Chuck sputtered, a coughing fit overtaking him. “First you say you don’t want to – well, and then you grab the blankets – I mean, do you have to be so – your hands are cold!”

Tuning him out, Casey leaned in closer. His touch on bare skin made the kid freeze for a second. “Hold still, will ya?”

“I said, what are – oh.” Right about then, Chuck flopped back on the pillow in annoyance when Casey’s intentions finally bubbled up to the surface. His cheeks puffed out in a sigh. “I told you before, I’m fine.” Encircling his fingers around Casey’s wrist, he attempted to stop the uncomfortable examination. “Even David agreed that –” 

“David. Eh.”

“– it was only superficial burns, and that it would heal – ow! Quit doing that!”

“Fine, huh?” Casey wrestled his hand out of Chuck’s grip with ease and found another dry patch to prod and poke.

“Not when you press that hard.” Pointing a scowl at Casey that wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, Chuck reluctantly surrendered by resting his forearm over his eyes and letting out a resigned breath. When his boyfriend was like this, bent on diving head first into a government facility, going toe-to-toe with whoever got in his way, or in this case, inspecting the damage a Fulcrum doctor had inflicted on his asset, well, there was no diverting him from his intended target. “Just … go easy, okay?” Chuck grumbled. “A little tired of being a test subject, you know.”

That was completely unfair and he knew it, but Casey let it slide. Wordlessly, large hands dragged over his chest, stopping to scrutinize the red, flaky patches of skin on his smooth pecs, under his ribcage, over his heart. Barely breathing, Chuck watched him from under his arm, the way his touches became a complete enigma of the man himself. Tender and deliberate. He let him do it, taking his time to peel back every hurt. 

With one last swipe of Casey’s thumb at the hollow of his neck, Chuck felt a hand touching his jaw, steering his face up. “Where’s the stinky shit that little dill weed left?”

“Okay, I have to presume a couple things here.” Moving his arm to his side, Chuck peered up at him and yanked the blanket tighter over his hips. “One, you must mean the ointment, and two, you may be referring to David. So, just for clarification here, can you tell me why you let him get under your skin like th –”

“Can it,” Casey cut in abruptly. He reached over to the night stand and snatched a short tube that sat next to the pill bottles. “Found it without your help, Intersect.”

Chuck thought about it and then did what the situation called for. He stuck out his tongue. 

“Do that again, and maybe I will decide you’re feeling better.”

“For the record, I wouldn’t mind.”

Casey just looked at him at squeezed the medicine onto his palm. “Stop messing around and let me get this on the burns.” 

“You may have noticed, but they are healing, Casey.” Trying not to squirm, which would only piss him off, Chuck forced himself to keep his hands down while Casey smeared the ointment over the red marks. It took him off guard, the way Casey was meticulous yet gentle as he tended to him, how the dull twinge of pain cooled under his fingers. He let himself sink into the bed and only focus on Casey’s hands, his smooth touch, making it all bearable. It felt damn good, actually. 

After a minute, Chuck’s eyes flicked up, lingering on Casey’s face, the hard angle of his jaw, the straight line of his nose. And no matter how invincible John Casey thought he was, Chuck saw something else there, too. Reaching over, he gently caressed his boyfriend’s thigh, swished back and forth over the smooth skin. “Casey?”

“Yeah?” Casey didn’t look at him, too intent on applying the salve to the final mark.

“I have an order for you, Major. I want you to get some rest.” Chuck’s hand coasted up Casey’s bare chest, fingertips skimming his ribcage. “It’ll be my fault if something happens to you. We take care of each other, right?” 

Casey gave him one of those impenetrable looks. After four months together, it was one that Chuck hadn’t quite figured out yet. Replacing the cap, the agent pushed his fingers against his eyelids and heaved a breath. “Nag, nag, nag,” Casey muttered, his voice scratchy and low. “Why the hell do I put up with you?” As he said it, one of his hands slid in a warm drag over Chuck’s waist, and the pad of his thumb idly grazed his lower belly to his bare hip. “God, you’re a pain.”

A beaming smile grew on Chuck’s face. “You always say that when I’m right.”

“Which is why I almost never say it.”

“Which means you just admitted I’m right.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at him and tossed the tube back on table. “Damn good thing I’m too tired to argue with you. Scoot your scrawny ass over, will you?”

“Only if you answer a question for me. The truth.” Threading his fingers through Casey’s, the kid tugged his hand over his stomach and up to his chest. Clutching it gently, all of his attention roamed over each feature of the agent’s stoic face. The kid’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Did you kill him?”

In answer, Casey’s eyes darted down to the raw, red spots and bumps on the kid’s bare chest. The storm of blue in his eyes swirled again, and forgiveness wasn’t in them. “Hell, yes, I killed him and I’d do it again,” he replied in a way that said a pesky detail had been dealt with. Not an iota of regret.

Chuck felt the instinctual swell of uneasiness in his gut. Being partnered with an NSA cold-blooded assassin meant having moments like this one. When conversations around ‘how was your day?’ sometimes covered the tenuous ground of ‘anyone shuffled from their mortal coil today, sweetie?’ 

Taking in a slow steady breath, the kid let it out and waited for his heart to stop jack hammering against his chest. He would never get used to this part … because he was the reason Casey had to kill him. Taking life made Chuck vaguely wonder how much of himself, his own dwindling innocence, burned off each time it happened. 

When he let go of Casey’s hand, the kid felt rough knuckles running down the curve of his jaw. “Look at me,” Casey ordered. The kid waited one long thrumming moment before he lifted his eyes to look him straight on. “Don’t you dare. He was a traitor. Fulcrum. He deserved what he got today.” Casey pushed a few unruly curls away from his eyes. “Remember that.”

Chuck studied him fully, and though he understood the frozen logic behind it from a clinical standpoint, this is where his boyfriend would always make him shudder. “I’m not you, Casey,” he breathed. “We’re not wired the same way. I can’t just say its okay.”

“Not asking you to.” Casey stretched out next to him in a weary sprawl. “And I’m not gonna talk about it either, so go to sleep.”

“Wait … I heard you discussing with Sarah … something about the flight tonight.” Chuck pulled the blanket around both of them and gave Casey a knowing look. “She thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Chuck … later. Not now.”

“Okay. But I meant what I said.” Pressing up next to the heat and comfort of his long muscled body, the kid closed his eyes. “You’re right. I just want to go home.”

He wasn’t getting an answer. Only for the reason Casey was in a deep slumber before Chuck could tuck his head under the crook of his arm.

Despite the silence and the warm familiar body pressed to his, the kid couldn’t sleep. After twenty minutes, he got up and quietly began digging through one of Casey’s bags.

-x-

McClure glanced down at the speedometer and backed off from the SUV’s gas pedal, slowing down to the speed limit. The last thing he needed this evening was a pursuit from the local or state boys, who may wonder why one of the NSA’s finest was burning up the pavement in their jurisdiction. That stunt usually got the uniformed patrols antsy – and pissed them off when they learned the feds were running an op under their noses without their knowledge. 

One hundred and twenty-seven miles of asphalt to put behind him while he sorted through the details of his plan. It was a lock – he couldn’t be wrong about this. Shifting his concentration from the rearview mirror to the road, the lieutenant snapped up his cell phone from the console without even looking. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was searching for. 

“Danny-boy,” he said when the man picked up. 

“What is it this time?”

“Not big on greetings, I see. I’ll get straight to the point then. I’m on my way to Vandenberg.” McClure’s eyes darted to the car that was passing him, scanning the occupants. So, yeah, perhaps there was paranoia at work here, but it wasn’t every day of the week that he ran his own rogue operation. “I need to call in another favor.”

A long drawn out pause gave him the strange feeling that his pal from Langley was trying to back out again. “McClure.” Danny brought his voice to a sharp whisper. “You have the information. You can’t keep calling like this. I told you about the plane Walker requested – where it’s headed and when. So, what else is there? Because, I gotta tell you, I won’t take another risk like this. That was SCI Intel –”

“Risk?” McClure snorted. “You’re already in ass deep, Danny. You provided the Intel. You went around the security measures – not me –”

The line went silent for a few seconds. “You bastard. You’d rat me out because you requested this information, and now you’re threatening –” 

“Hey. No reason to get worked up, eh?” McClure cut him short. “It’s a simple one. You take care of one last detail,” he said quietly, “and this all goes away.”

“Shit.” He heard Danny swallow hard, like a goddamn pussy, at the prospect that he would pull him down if he didn’t cooperate. “What the fuck do you want now?”

“I need access to the base and airfield alpha three-zero with no interference tonight. A backdoor entrance and I know you can get it for me. No questions. No tracking of my location – badge readers, surveillance monitors –”

“Are you going in by yourself on this one? Jesus, McClure, are you an idiot?”

“No questions asked, got it?” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. Why was he being such a dick about this? “It’ll be a quick in and out once I meet the plane. I know you have access to communications … security … friends in the right places that can make this happen.” His tone became much colder. “Am I right, Danny-boy?”

The dead stillness on the other end of the line clued him in to everything he needed to know. Danny recognized he was in just as deep by breeching security protocol. “Alright,” he said, sounding subdued. “This is it though. I’ll text you the instructions – get the job done, and get the hell out of there. I’ll take care of any interference at the base.”

McClure lifted his dark shades and glanced down to the passenger seat. His Glock. A nice stash of double stack magazines and his back-up semi automatic were laying in the open duffel bag next to it. “Thanks, Danny,” he said, picking up the gun, just to feel the weight and balance of it in his palm, the comfort in the grip. “You always were a good friend. Someone I could count on.”

-x-

The blue and white sign at the exit ramp told the kid that the Chantilly Airport was the regional hub of a cargo airline. Bringing his palm to the window, he wiped a circle in the condensation and gazed out at a fleet of aircraft. Planes of all shapes and sizes, from simple silver birds to 757s rose from the tarmacs and runways. Technicians and service personnel worked like a busy colony of ants, keeping the hub constantly moving over the confusing crisscross pattern of airstrips and service drives. 

Chuck was no spy, but he immediately knew why Sarah had made arrangements for them to depart from Chantilly. It was the perfect setting for a nondescript Gulf Stream waiting on south strip F35 to go unnoticed. Sweeping her eyes over the vicinity of the nearby plane, Sarah maneuvered her car to the tarmac transport area, and rolled to a stop in front of a large yawning hangar. 

That’s when the kid saw him.

The first detail Chuck caught was the sleek black hair that seemed to lie perfectly always, even in the light drizzle that had been steady since they left the motel. If that wasn’t enough, the athletic, graceful stance that radiated a healthy dose of self-assurance was a dead giveaway.

Bryce.

He hadn’t laid eyes on his college roommate since he skipped out of town with Sarah after the Von Hayes mission, but somehow Bryce had gotten the memo. Because it appeared that Agent Larkin was part of the Bon Voyage send off tonight.

“Oh, crap,” Chuck mumbled, getting a glimpse of Casey’s steely side view. This had potential to go sour fast. 

From the backseat, the kid put his elbow against the armrest and stared out the window. Bryce was leaning on the hood of a charcoal grey Audi with his arms folded over his chest, wearing a black tailored wool coat. Look at him, he thought. Even waiting in the rain, he could pull off his typical aura of confidence so easily. That was another part of life that Chuck knew was unfair.

Until the headlights splashed over him, that is, giving Chuck the first good look at his face. Someone had cold cocked Bryce Larkin. There he was, sporting a purplish-black shiner under one eye, a bruise that pushed his perfect image down the scale about six notches. The kid had an inkling how it got there, and sheepishly, he had to bite back a grin at the surge of satisfaction. 

On the other hand, vindication was immediately replaced by a flood of panic at the thought of a dozen ways Casey wanted to kill Bryce right now.

Again, oh, crap.

“Don’t even say it, Casey.” Sarah cut off the engine and slipped the keys into her coat without looking at the man in her passenger seat. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Casey pinned Bryce Larkin with an icy stare as the CIA agent stepped away from his Audi. “Oh, you have no idea what I’m thinking, Walker,” he told her, his voice as knife-edged as a blade. “Because if you knew what I was thinking, you wouldn’t have brought your partner here.”

“Casey, listen to me.” The blonde turned in her seat and Chuck was surprised to see her touch Casey’s arm. “I needed someone to hand deliver the flight plans and ensure there were no leaks here tonight. It had to be Bryce. He’s the only one who knows about the two of you. It was too risky to bring in another operator.” Glancing out the window, she nodded at her partner, knowing full well his black eye was standing out like a beacon. “Besides, Casey, look at him. I don’t think he’ll cross us this time.”

Casey made a sardonic noise between clenched teeth. “I’ll tell you this, sister. I’m going to make damn sure he won’t cross us this time.”

The kid’s eyes widened when he saw his boyfriend bend forward in the passenger seat, just enough to slip his SIG Sauer out of his waistband. “Casey.” Chuck poked his face around the headrest and touched his shoulder. It didn’t do a lick of good. The distinct clack of the stainless steel slide and a magazine being chambered announced that Casey was on a new mission. “Dammit!” The kid latched onto his jacket and jerked him back. “You can’t do –”

“Stay out of it, sunshine.” Casey didn’t even bother turning back to look at him, his eyes remaining fastened to Bryce. “I already know what you think, and I damn well can do it.” Lips tightening, he waved off the inevitable argument as Sarah opened her mouth next. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I should be thanking you, Walker. If you hadn’t had the foresight to bring your partner tonight, I would’ve had to wait to tidy up that loose end. But you delivered him right to me.” Casey wrapped his fingers around the door handle and slanted her a sideways look that promised death. “Put a bow on his ass and its fucking Christmas at the Casey’s.”

“Sunshine? Now just wait a damn minute, big guy.” Ruffled at the way Casey had dismissed him, Chuck clamped down on his jacket one more time. “Sarah’s right. You can’t do this now.”

“We don’t have time to even the score,” she snapped. “There is a five minute window for you to get on that plane. My friend has been briefed, and the flight is cleared for takeoff.” Sarah’s jaw tightened, matching his obstinance pound for pound. “You get out of the car and get on the damn plane.”

Casey cursed under his breath and jerked his shoulder free from Chuck’s hold. “Did you plan this tag team, girls?” Reaching for the handle again, he popped the door open and started to slide out of the seat. “Because it’s not gonna work. I have a job to do and this time … well, this time, its gonna stick.” 

“Casey … wait.” When the kid saw Casey shrug at him and keep moving, he scrambled out of the car right behind, arms flailing. “Listen, you cannot … John. Stop.”

Admittedly it was a dirty trick, and a move he only used only in the most desperate of situations, but using his boyfriend’s first name like that, half-plea, half-forceful almost always did the job. It was an iron spike through the fog of unrestraint and deadly urges, intended to stop him dead in his tracks. 

Astonishingly – considering the target was none other than Bryce Larkin – it actually drew Casey to a halt. 

Except for the hand holding the SIG, which was suddenly raised, pointing in the direction of his ex-best friend’s head. 

When Chuck could finally breathe, he looked towards the Audi in time to see the slick grin was now wiped off Bryce’s face. Maybe it had something to do with the extremely large, intimidating barrel of a gun zeroed in on him, a laser sight trained on his temple. Or the fact that it was John Casey doing the aiming. 

“Whoa … stand down, Casey.” Bryce lifted his hands out of his coat pockets and raised them in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m only here to help. Right, Sarah? Tell him…” His eyes drifted past Chuck’s shoulder. It was only then he realized she was standing there. When did Sarah even get out of the car? She had to have moved like a panther, all leggy and blonde and bad ass, because now she was hovering a few feet behind them. And when she took a step forward, the kid saw her bring her hand up to rest on the butt of her handgun. 

“Hey, Bryce.” Chuck managed to nod at him, easing in a little closer to his boyfriend. “Well, isn’t this a little … awkward.” Meaning, with Bryce’s measly smile back where it was and Casey, well – getting ready to kill him and all. “So,” the kid said loudly, rallying up a fake grin to quickly change the subject. “We were just getting ready to get on that plane, weren’t we, Casey.”

Casey snorted and kept the gun level, dead set to Bryce’s forehead, his baby blues sparking at the prospect of a clean head shot. “Bartowski, get the duffels out of the trunk and get your skinny ass on that plane.” He darted a quick look to the side where Chuck had moved next to him. “That is an order.”

Chuck wasn’t sure where it came from, but a flash of defiance thrummed through him. Straightening his shoulders, he cleared his throat. “Did you say… an order? Do you really think you can just issue an order when it’s convenient to be my handler, Agent?” He took another step closer. If he reached out, he could touch Casey’s arm. “Don’t you think we passed that fork in the road?”

“I’m warning you Chuck, do it,” Casey told him, lacing each word with menace. “Or you’re gonna see something you’d rather forget.”

“Boys?” In the meantime, Sarah had edged up to the other side of the NSA Agent. They both turned to her. The rain had flattened her hair, making the blonde locks lay plastered to the side of her face, only accentuating her pale features. “Do you really want to have this conversation now?” 

The kid swallowed down the tightness in his chest that had set him fuming, while Bryce gave a pleading look to his partner. “Sarah, do something ….”

“Casey, I can’t let you take that shot,” she said quietly. When Chuck turned his head, he could feel the rippling tension from her as she took another step. “Look around. The pilots are watching. If you do this, they’ll leave you here … and I know you don’t want that. For Chuck. Or for you.”

Nicely played, Sarah. 

Or it would’ve been, save for Casey’s unwavering arm, still poised in the practiced stance, one hand cupping the other and steady as stone. His finger twitched on the trigger. Chuck closed the distance between them and laid a tentative hand on Casey’s arm, one that made his boyfriend flinch at the touch. “Sometimes you have to listen to me, Casey.”

Casey didn’t move at first, but then, Chuck saw it. His arms relaxed, only the tiniest amount. Squinting at Bryce for a half minute that drew out to infinity, he slowly lowered his gun. “Dammit, you two,” Casey said. “All right, you win. I won’t kill him. This time.” He made no attempt to hide his disappointment. “Now get the damn duffels like I asked you to, so that we can get out of here.”

Chuck let out a huge breath and closed his eyes against the cold mist. “Thank you.” 

“Hey, Casey….” Bryce brought his palms down and glanced over to Sarah before locking eyes with his nemesis. The smile he wore had worked wonders in off-campus night clubs six years ago, Chuck recalled, but it didn’t carry quite the same charisma on a pissed off NSA agent. “No need to hold grudges, huh, big guy? We’re all on the same side here, aren’t we?”

“Don’t push it, Bryce,” Sarah cut in. She gave him a pointed look before turning to help Chuck haul the duffels . “He’s still holding a gun.”

“Listen to your partner, Larkin.” Casey inclined his head towards the car. “Get a move on before I change my mind.” 

“And you get on the plane, Casey.” Chuck kept his voice even as he lifted one of the black nylon bags out of the trunk. “Sarah and I will take care of these.” His grip tightened on one of the handles as he surveyed his rigid and unpredictable partner. “That’s an order, Major.”

If the indignant grunt was any barometer, that was probably pushing it as far as he could. It was petty to smile, but when Chuck turned back to pull a bag out of the trunk, he did it anyway. Getting away with telling his belligerent-as-hell boyfriend what to do was a win in the Chuck Bartowski playbook. Soaked to the skin, the kid handed off one of the bags to Sarah, relishing his tiny victory. 

Therefore, they didn’t see it coming.

“Gah! Son of a bitch! What is wrong with you?” Bryce’s voice sounded like it was eking out from a thin hose, a squeaky stream of air. “What are you doing?!” 

Chuck dropped the bag and jerked his head towards the noises behind them. Next to him, Sarah did the same. “Oh, crap,” he yelped, feeling sweat spring up under his shirt, crawling over his shoulder blades. “This is bad. Very very bad.”

“Looks okay from this angle,” Casey said plainly. Bending his face to Bryce’s ear, his voice fell to a gravelly register. “Isn’t that right, Bryce?”

Odds were way less than fifty-fifty that Bryce would be able to squeak out an answer. Maybe this was due to the fact that the barrel of Casey’s SIG was jammed against his temple, or that his face was wedged flat on the trunk of his Audi. To complicate matters – for Bryce Larkin, anyway – a large hand was clinched around his neck, and Casey was arched over his back, every ounce of his weight and strength pinning him down to the trunk of the car. In a matter of seconds, Bryce’s face was slowly turning blue.

“Casey, you promised!” Chuck moved around the bag he had dropped, staring in absolute horror. “You said you wouldn’t kill him!”

The agent’s reply was to shrug. “And you believed me? Heh.” He nudged the muzzle hard to make his point, undeniably pleased when Bryce let out an unprofessional yip. “I can see why Bartowski fell for it, but I expected more out of you, CIA.” Casey glanced at Sarah and rolled his eyes. “Did you seriously think I was going to pass up the opportunity to kill Bryce Larkin? After he backstabbed me in the bunker?” Casey grunted, and since Chuck had reached expert level at categorizing them, this one was labeled as toxic. “Not happening.”

“Casey, the window is closing,” Sarah observed coolly, and Chuck had to admire how calm she sounded for someone getting ready to see grey matter. “Let go of –”

“Don’t worry, this’ll be quick,” Casey broke in with a chuckle. “That I can promise.” Tilting his head towards the Gulfstream, he stared at Chuck without blinking or giving in. ”Walker, take Bartowski and get him on that plane.” 

Neither of them moved. 

“No.” Chuck swallowed hard, feeling the scrape against his dry throat. His heart had ratcheted back up, beating like a piston against his chest. But he squared his shoulders, folded his arms over his jacket and gazed at his boyfriend dead-on. “Or, in terms you’ll understand, hell no, in fact. If you want to shoot him, then you’re going to have to do it. Right here, in front of his college roommate and his partner. I’m not getting on the plane until you come with me. Got it, Major?”

“Chuck,” Bryce hissed out of the side of his mouth. “Not helping! Are you trying to encourage him?”

“Shut it. You don’t get a vote, dickhead.” Casey pressed in with his palm and jammed Bryce’s face a little harder into the sheet metal. His hand tightened on the gun. “Fine. You want to stand there, kid, and watch? I gave you fair warning.” He paused, pushing the muzzle into Bryce’s temple one more time, forcing a wince out of him. “Say good-bye, Larkin.”

The kid’s eyes blew wide. “Casey, no,” he blurted, realizing the sudden movement on his left was Sarah Walker, dodging around him with no chance to get to Casey in time.

“Casey!” she shouted, just as they both saw Casey’s finger, balancing on the trigger, slowly flex in –

Click.

“What the fu –?” The NSA agent held up his gun just for a brief flash, only to lower it again, shove it to his temple, and pull the trigger once more.

Click.

“Casey, don’t do it.” Sarah skidded to a stop a few feet away, her eyes darting from Casey, to the gun, to the trunk of the car – wondering why it hadn’t been sprayed with Larkin kibble. It’s not like Major John Casey, certified sharp shooter, could miss from point blank after all. 

Casey held up the SIG and wedged his elbow into Bryce’s back. “Stay there,” he ordered as if Bryce would be able to move with two hundred and twenty pounds holding him down. “We’re not done yet.” With his free hand, Casey pulled out the clip and examined it. “… the hell?" he growled. “The clip is … empty.”

“Uh, technically, no. You see, I had to modify it for the weight to be balanced, because I was pretty sure you would feel the difference. L-looking for this?” 

Casey, Sarah, and even Bryce, still wedged larger man’s arm, turned at the sound of Chuck’s voice. The feminine face was mystified, the man who had just been given another lease on life took a shallow shaky breath, and Casey made a feral noise in his throat that had the kid wondering if he would need to clean out his shorts when this was done. 

“What,” Casey asked, fixing him with a smoky stare, “the fuck … is that?”

Chuck twisted the cartridge between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully. “Well, I think you call it a magazine. Isn’t that right, Casey? But I guess a trained assassin would know that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, the kid watched as Sarah lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a smile. The snicker came out anyway. “Oh,” she said under her breath. “The pilots will have to wait. I’m not missing this.”

“I know what it is, Bartowski,” Casey replied, sounding particularly terse. Without taking his eyes off Chuck, he squeezed Bryce’s neck to curtail the squirming before going on. “What I want to know is why the hell it is in your hand.” His blue eyes flickered in the dark. “You … touched my gun. There are rules about my gun. Rules that we have reviewed over and over, I might add.” The agent held out his hand expectantly, curling his fingers. “Give me the goddamn clip. Now.”

“Sorry, Casey.” Chuck examined it one more time before he shoved it into his pocket – and strolled back a step. “I can’t give you a loaded clip until you get on the plane.”

“You little –” 

“Ah-ah.” Chuck waggled a finger at him, but after thinking about it, he was also careful to put another pace or two between them. “Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?”

“He’s right, Casey,” Sarah chimed in, fighting a smirk. “Being in love means learning to play nice.”

“Eh.” Reflexively, Larkin got another jab right about the time the word love spilled from her lips.

“B-back off, Casey,” Bryce choked, trying to wriggle out from under him. “It’s your boyfriend you should be mad – ack.” 

Casey ended that noise by driving in with his elbow. He held out his hand towards Chuck, more adamant this time. “Get your ass over here and put the clip in my hand.” Half-turning, he glared at the kid. “And while you’re at it, care to explain this, Bartowski: how the hell did you know?”

“Uh, well –” Chuck stammered.

“You were the one who showed him how to use a gun, didn’t you, Casey?” Sarah’s perfectly arched brows quirked up at him. “I’m sure you showed him all of the proper handling, so you can’t be mad at him.” 

Narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously, Casey looked from Sarah and then to Chuck. “Are we having a talk when we get on the plane?”

“I was only trying to –” 

“Hey, I hate to break up the party here,” Bryce started again – until Casey closed off his windpipe with another elbow to the neck. 

Chuck felt his own chest constrict, but then lifted his chin. “To answer your question, Major,” he replied, jamming his hands into his pockets, “I told you I was awake when you were talking to Sarah. I overheard you planning to kill him for, what, the sixth time? I lost track after awhile.” 

“Trying to put an end to that problem right now, Bartowski. Give me the cartridge.”

“Anyway, I knew that if Bryce showed his face before we left town, you would try to kill him.” A gust of wind swirled and Chuck pulled his jacket closer around his body. “So, when you fell asleep, I found your gun in your bag –”

“… Sonovabitch … tell me you’re lying –”

“– I emptied the clip … uh, you probably don’t want to know what I had to put in there to add the weight –”

“Fuck.”

“– and then I safely stowed the others … and I’m going to keep them – until we’re in the air. Then, you can have all your playthings back, Casey.”

Casey growled, more ruthless than the last one. “Oh … we are having a long talk later….”

“Can’t wait.” Biting down on his lip to fight the spurt of dread, Chuck tucked the clip safely into his jacket and shuffled back another step. “It was for your own good, Casey.”

Now that was probably a mistake to tack on. If taking his gun without permission riled him, then telling him it was for his own good pushed Casey past the brink of dangerous. Like he needed help with that tonight. 

Sarah angled her head at Casey, her eyes gleamed with unwholesome amusement. “Don’t look at me,” she commented. “He’s your boyfriend.”

Chuck could see Casey’s spine stiffen. Shooting the kid one more look of warning, the agent leaned in to Bryce’s ear. “You little slippery asshole,” he whispered, pressing the cold barrel to Bryce’s head. “One shot … just one bullet right there.” The muzzle nearly split his temple open with an inward press. “That’s gonna happen … right when you don’t expect it. I’m gonna be there. Waiting.”

It was wrong of him, but the kid’s shoulders relaxed a bit to see Casey’s ire had been redirected to a more tempting target. Then, he reminded himself that his boyfriend had a tenacious memory when it came to his belongings. Shit … and it would be right when he didn’t expect it. 

“C’mon, Casey. Chuck has the clip,” Bryce wheezed. “You can’t hurt me with that gun.”

In response, Casey flattened his cheek to the trunk even harder. It was a moment before he chuckled. “That so?” 

Before Chuck could blink or Sarah could move in between them, Casey flipped the gun in his hand so that the barrel was in his palm. A sharp swing to the side, and he landed a perfect blow to Bryce’s temple. 

Chuck cringed at the dull thud of flesh to cold metal. “What –” the kid faltered, pulling his jacket tighter around his body. “Please, do not –”

“So, tell me, Bryce, did that hurt?” Casey inquired with a rumble. 

But it was obvious an answer wouldn’t be coming. Bryce Larkin was out cold.

Hauling him up by his neck, Casey’s hand dove into his wool coat, fishing around until he found what he was looking for. He snatched the car keys with a flourish and popped the trunk open. 

“Casey….” Sarah edged closer, wariness replacing her amusement of a minute go. “What are you doing? I thought we settled this.”

“Leave him, Casey.” Chuck followed on Sarah’s heels. Not good, not good. In the back of his mind, he knew his boyfriend could be a volatile tornado with the right wind at his back, and these were just the kind of conditions that could set him off. “We have to go,” Chuck said. “Now.”

The NSA agent looked at both of them blandly and shook the unconscious man by his collar. “Leave him? Good thinking, kid.” Lifting him by coat, Casey stuffed Bryce in the trunk, tossed in the keys after him, and closed the lid harder than needed. With a smug look, he brushed his hands together. “There. All tidied up.” He turned to Chuck. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chuck’s shoulders dropped, swamped with relief. The Gods of All Things Slippery had deemed Bryce Larkin would live to see another day.

Even Sarah looked openly relieved as she put her hands on her hips to face off with Casey. “You just wasted your time throwing the keys in there with him. You know I can pick that lock faster than you can use a key.”

“Good point, Walker.” Casey turned to the trunk, and this time he used the sturdy handle of the SIG to smash the lock casing, sending a spattering of metal parts to the ground. “Now you’ll need the crowbar,” he said. “Don’t worry, though. I think it’s in the trunk.” Stuffing the handgun back in his waistband, he startled the kid by taking his arm and yanking, without a doubt intending to haul him bodily to the Gulf Stream. “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Chuck dug his heels in and pulled back. “Sarah. We haven’t said good-bye to Sarah.”

There were a million things he needed to say. Any stuttered words of thanks would sound woefully inadequate for the sacrifices she had made, the risk that she had accepted to save him. Wait. Save them.

Wrenching his arm free from Casey’s grasp, oblivious to his demand to keep walking, Chuck turned and opened his mouth – but the words were cut off when Sarah Walker wrapped him in her arms in a bewilderingly long, strong hug. 

In the end, the hug made him forget all the things he still had to say. Or maybe, he just had. “Hey, you,” she whispered to his ear, and Chuck thought he heard a little quiver there in her voice. “Stay out of trouble, will you?” 

From behind, a hard-muscled hand that didn’t belong to Sarah fisted the shoulder of his jacket and tugged. “Move it.”

Feeling the pull, Sarah uncoiled her arms from around Chuck’s back but held him by the elbows, looking up. Her eyes were misty. It had to be the drizzle. 

“I’ll do my best.” Chuck mustered up a small smile, knowing it didn’t reach his eyes. Before he could ask her if they would ever see each other again, the kid was forced to walk backwards when the tug on his arm became more insistent. 

“Casey?” Because of course he was standing next to Chuck by now, tightly packaged and tensed, blue eyes riveted to them. Sarah turned to her ex-partner and pretended to move in for a hug. When his hand reflexively came up, she laughed softly. “The SUV will be waiting for you. I still think you’re nuts to go back there. But my friend will take you where you want to go.” She rocked back on her heels to meet his eyes, her gaze absolutely steady. “It was … good to work with you again … partner.” 

Sarah stuck out her hand. It seemed to hang in the air for an interminable moment before a large warm hand engulfed hers. “Ditto, Walker,” Casey replied. “Ditto.”

-x-

“Can you move your scrawny ass? I need to get there to put this away.”

Chuck glanced at the tac bag and up to the overhead bin. “Um, sure I can –”

Not waiting, Casey used the bag to push the skinnier man out of the way so he could get into the aisle. Lifting the latch, he popped the bin open and stuffed the black duffle inside without a word.

In case there were any lingering doubts, why yes, John Casey was still a bit peeved at him.

Chuck furrowed his brow at his boyfriend’s chiseled profile. There it was, just the smallest ticking in his jaw. “You’re mad,” the kid conceded, hesitating before putting his hand on Casey’s arm. “I get that, I do. Yes, you hate Bryce Larkin. And, yes, he almost destroyed the mission. But you have to understand, I couldn’t let you kill him. I had to take your clips. I had to stop you.”

Casey ducked his shoulder, effectively dislodging Chuck’s hand, and slammed the bin closed with a little more gusto than necessary.

“Fine. He was my roommate and best friend, and maybe that had something to do with this … I’ll give you that much.” Chuck watched Casey take off his jacket while ignoring him. “On top of that, he’s Sarah’s partner and who knows what else. But that wasn’t why I stopped you.” Chuck swayed on his feet when the plane lurched and began to taxi to the runway. “If you killed him, one of the CIA’s most respected operatives? Well, Beckman and her forces would have an engraved invitation to come down on us times ten. As if they need another excuse already.” 

Chuck waited for him to answer, but Casey plopped into the aisle seat and folded his arms over his chest. Angling his head the other way, he pretended to look out the window.

The kid frowned down at him. “We’re already walking into a land mine, and you know it,” he said. “You won’t admit that I’m right about this.”

The silence stretched for half a minute. Stubborn bastard. “Okay, you don’t want to talk to me right now, I get that too. Can you at least get up for a second so that I can get around you?” Leaning over him, the kid nodded at the window seat on the other side of Casey.

Well, this finally got the agent’s attention. Letting his gaze stroll up to Chuck’s face, he smirked – and made a point of stretching his long legs in front of him, blocking the seat. Satisfied that the kid got the message, Casey slouched against the backrest and closed his eyes.

Chuck finished packing his own duffel away and squinted down at him. “Nice, Casey. Really nice,” he muttered. “I guess I’ll go sit back here next to the window.” Grabbing a tissue thin blanket out of the bin – Jesus, even the CIA uses these things? – the kid moved back a few rows on the opposite side of the plane, and dropped into one of the seats with a huff. 

He couldn’t sleep. 

Staring towards the window, he focused on his reflection against the black night. In the past week, he felt like he had been dumped in the middle of a battle, a weirdly hallucinogenic campaign of survival. His head swirled. Chuck should be afraid of the DNI, that asshole McClure for that matter, and whatever they together could cook up to harm Ellie or his dad.

But, in actuality, who was he kidding? Yes, all of those worries were enough to make him sweat. To keep him awake. But, fuck it, shouldn’t he at least be honest with himself? It was the man riding on anger a few rows away, legs stretched out into the walkway, arms still crossed over his broad chest, eyes closed as if he was asleep that was keeping him lost in thought. 

An Oscar worthy performance, too, because when it came to Casey, the kid knew better. Even from across the aisle, he could see the obvious stiffness in his shoulders, the way he repositioned his body side to side, as if it was even possible to get comfortable in the seat. 

Fine. Be an ass. 

The low droning of the plane’s engines should’ve lulled him to sleep. Chuck quashed the awful feeling that he had crossed the line tonight with his boyfriend, that Casey would ditch him at the airport with an adios and a shove to the curb. Sighing heavily, he stared out the portal window into the coal black night. 

How much time had passed since they had taken off? Minutes … hours? He ran his finger over the window, tracing patches of moisture while his head lolled on the backrest. Freaking airline seats. Plainly, they were not made for a person who had outgrown most of the population by age fifteen. Fiddling with the zipper of his coat, he gazed blankly into the murk … listening to the deep thrum of the engines … when he was suddenly jostled, feeling the seat next to him sink and roll under a sizable bulk. 

“Took the only blanket,” Casey groused under his breath. Tugging at the cover, he stretched it out until it was draped loosely over their legs. “Thought the least you could do was share.” 

The kid just swallowed and watched him out of the corner of his eye. “If you’d … like to.” 

Without looking at him, Casey wriggled his shoulders into the cushion, trying to settle in to the overly cramped seat. When his large frame seemed to find a suitable position, Chuck thought that was the end of the conversation. But Casey turned his head and gave him a hard stare, the scorching heat of his eyes washing over his skin. 

“Something tells me you’re not looking for airline peanuts.”

“Cork it, kid. What did you put in the empty casings?” Casey asked. “For the weight? So I wouldn’t notice?”

Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Oh, we’re eons past that, sport, but you’re gonna tell me.”

One quick look informed him that Casey wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer. “Okay, okay … uh, soap shavings. It was the only thing in the room I could whittle to that size.”

Casey bit down on his lip and regarded him until Chuck couldn’t help but fidget. “You know,” Casey said, “you’re the only person who could do that and live.”

“And, somewhere hidden in the death threat is the recognition that your feelings for –” 

“Can you be quiet?” Casey grumbled, his shirt brushing against Chuck’s arm when he moved slightly in the seat. The larger man closed his eyes, took a deep inhale and let it out. And that was it. The signal. There would be no explanation, no offering of a reason of why he had bothered to get up and move back there to share a thin, too small blanket. 

Chuck stared at him for a long time before rubbing a hand over his face and slanting his head to the dark window. He didn’t move, letting his mind play out the hundreds of scenarios waiting for them when the plane landed. Wondering if Casey would actually talk to him again in the next four hours….

… which made the touch startling when he felt it. 

Long fingers glided slowly along his jeans, up his inner wrist, finding his hand. Deliberately, they drifted over his palm, threaded though his fingers, and hung on. Warm and comforting and strong. Not letting go. 

When Chuck focused on the window again, his own small smile reflected back at him.

Apology accepted, he thought, and remembered nothing after that.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Seven-x


	14. Chapter Eight

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Eight)

-x-

“Chuck.”

The familiar rumble broke through his fog just barely, sending strange images and sounds burning in his head. One of Peaches’ early morning wakeup calls. The way she’d make muffled noises at his door, whimpers that could be ignored for five more minutes of precious sleep. 

This firm tapping on his cheek, however, was not quite as tender. Or to be ignored.

“Bartowski. Need to see those eyes.”

His neck was cranked at a weird angle, his hand thrumming with that pinprick tingling that told him it had fallen asleep propping his head against the window. One long leg was stretched out to the side, almost at ease, but the other was bent and scrunched into the seat in front of him. When his foot hit something hard, there was no need to wrack his brain to remember where they were. This brand of agony could only be one thing. 

“I fell asleep? On the plane?” Chuck mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. The tingling was fading. “I’ve never been able to do that, not that I’ve traveled much by –”

“Yeah, well it had to be the plush CIA accommodations.” Casey rolled his eyes to emphasize the cheap shot at the lesser agency, but he had used ‘plush’ and ‘CIA’ in the same sentence, so Chuck thought the eye roll was redundant. Now that he was awake, the hand that tapped his cheek moved up, and Casey laid a large cool palm over his forehead. 

“What are you doing?” Chuck swatted at the hand. When the agent frowned at him for the surliness, Chuck tried to push his hand away again. 

“Hold still for a second, will ya?” Casey ordered. “You’re squirming.” 

“I’m fine.” Another swat. He was sick of being sick and a big burden to everyone and he just wanted to get home.

“Take these.” Casey held out a bottle of water and two of the pills that David had left for him. How long ago was it that the young doctor was in their motel room? It had to be an eternity ago. 

“Casey, you can’t keep –” 

“Fever’s up again,” Casey broke in. “Sweating like a damn runner after a marathon. Thrashing and talking in your sleep. Now take them.”

“Really? What did I say?”

“Something about Orion, your daddy, and taking out the Intersect.” Casey’s eyes narrowed. “Any of that sound familiar?”

“Um, I can see it’s a bit of a sore subject.” And someone is in a foul mood. 

“Here.”

“Fine.” Chuck ended the argument by popping the pills in his mouth and chasing them down with a swig of water. The last thing he wanted was Casey to be concerned about Orion or his sick boyfriend dragging them down. Not when they had bigger issues to contend with. Say, government-sized ‘kill-on-sight order’ issues. 

“Where are we?” 

“Vandenberg.” Casey went back to assembling the SIG, inserting the barrel within the slide with a crisp snap. 

“And how far is it to Burbank?” The kid focused on the smooth motions of his fingers – the way they worked on instinct to adjust the recoil, gliding the magazine in place. Intimidating, yes, but not as daunting as over two hundred pounds of whipsaw strength and hard muscle. Because clearly, Casey was pissed and it was no secret where his ire was coming from.

Bar soap. Tiny scraps of generic motel room soap shavings were piled neatly on the corner of the flip-down tray. It was obvious that the longer the agent had worked to extract them from all of the cracks and crevices, the more ticked-off he became. By the looks of his poker red cheeks and bulges of tension in his forearms, he had been at it for awhile.

“Did I say I was sorry about that?” Chuck flashed a nervous grin. “Sweetie?”

“Would you do it again in the same circumstances?”

“Well.” No sense lying, because John Casey was the master of detection, wasn’t he? Especially when it came to terrible liars, and the agent knew his lover fell into that category. “Yes. If it meant stopping you from killing someone who is a friend of the person who’s trying to help us, then –”

“Then admitting you would do it again means you’re not sorry.” The take-down mechanism clicked into place. “Oh, and kid?”

“Yeah?” Chuck tried to brush Casey’s knuckles, but he moved his hand. Yep, still pissed.

“If you even think about making a joke that at least my gun is clean now, boyfriend or not, I will stuff every lanky limb of yours in the overhead bin. Got that?”

“Good to know.” Whoa. It had been right on the tip of his tongue, too. “You didn’t answer my question. Burbank?”

“We’ll be driving for a few hours after we land.” 

Chuck massaged his aching neck and looked out the window. To the east, sunlight was just beginning to dapple the low clouds, feathery streaks of golden light tinged to burnt orange on the outer edges of the sky.

“That’s odd,” Chuck observed. “With the time change, how can it be light out?”

“We stopped in Omaha. You were sleeping.”

“Oh.” Chuck furrowed his brow. “Omaha, huh? You know, I realize you’re a tad bit angry over the soap –”

“Eh.”

“But could you ratchet down the sarcasm a weensy bit? I mean, obviously, that is some not-too-cleverly masked reference to Bryce? Omaha.”

Casey set down the SIG on the tray and turned with an ice blue stare. “We stopped in Omaha, Nebraska to refuel,” he said flatly. “But thanks for the reminder of the dickhead, Intersect.”

Alrighty, then. Maybe the soap wasn’t the brightest idea in the Bartowski Playbook. “As much as I’d love to finish this conversation,” Chuck started before figuring sarcasm shouldn’t be his go-to move at this juncture, “why don’t you tell me what this plan is of yours?”

The sudden bounce of the plane’s landing mechanism dropping into place only made Casey pause for a second or two. He looked past Chuck’s shoulder and out the window before turning his attention back to the handgun. “My plan is simple. I have what they want.” His eyes drifted over to the kid to underscore his point. “Beckman has enough bureaucratic beef on her butt cakes to make this damn thing go away. I’ll propose a straightforward negotiation. Then, we go back to the way it was.”

“What else?”

Casey turned to glare. “Remember, I’m already pissed at you.”

“I understand the plan, and yes: simple but plausible. I guess what I meant to say, Casey, is or else.” Chuck began fiddling with the pull string on his hoodie coat, a nervous gesture he couldn’t hide. “I mean, there’s always an or else … and considering I happen to be the bargaining chip here, I think I have a right to know what the or else will be.”

“It should be obvious, Bartowski,” Casey replied, stuffing his dry brush back into the leather cleaning pouch. “They won’t get what they want.” His voice lost some of the edge when he turned to the kid, grazing his knuckles against his arm. “We’d have to run.”

“For … how long?”

“Until I thought it was safe,” Casey answered, keeping his voice mild. “Could be months. Could be longer.”

Chuck swallowed and looked out the window, a long cavernous hangar coming into view. He kept his back straight in the seat and listened to the screech of the tires hitting the runway. It gave him time to think – and mull over what he would need to give up. The pang stirred something he had stuffed deep inside. Ellie. His father. “But,” he whispered, “we’d be together.”

“Yes.”

“And eventually, maybe we could have our lives back. Something normal.”

“No promises.” Casey moved to unfold his long legs from under the seat in front of him and he climbed up. To the kid, it was apparent that he was avoiding eye contact, looking beyond him and out the foggy window. “But maybe.”

“I’m sticking with you,” Chuck said with a wan smile and this time Casey let him touch his hand. “You know that, right?”

It was strange, but Casey seemed to freeze right then, a razor sharp moment when he refused to really look at him. But Chuck knew it was the blind trust that had thrown Casey off his game. The agent quickly grabbed his duffle bag from the bin and shoved the gun in his waistband. Finally, he connected with a pair of plaintive brown eyes. “God, you are a pain in the ass,” he grumbled.

Chuck grinned and swept his fingers under Casey’s belt, using the grip to pull himself up – Casey made a hell of an anchor, after all – and to keep him there. When he landed on his feet, Chuck pressed in, dropping a kiss on his warm mouth. Only a taste. “Luckily, I know what you really meant,” he said against Casey’s lips.

“I’m still mad,” Casey advised. “You owe me. Don’t forget it.”

“Like you’d let me,” Chuck said under his breath, sounding petulant that the kiss didn’t divert him. “Humph. Can’t wait.”

Casey grunted, pleased that the message hit the intended target. “You ready?”

“Yes, but besides being the door prize in this little negotiation,” Chuck sniffed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie jacket, “I’d like to know what my role is here – how I could – huh.” His brows drew down, and stopping mid-sentence, he let his fingers trace something in the pocket. 

That was odd. Back at the motel, Sarah had given him the street clothes she had purchased to replace his prisoner garb from the bunker. Dark jeans, 32 extra long. A brown t-shirt. The fleece hoodie jacket – and the pockets had been empty. 

“What is it?” Casey asked.

“Nothing. It’s just, uh ….” Chuck pulled out the business card, blank on one side. He flipped it over to read the scrawl and frowned. “Someone’s idea of a joke,” he explained lamely, slipping it back into his pocket.

“What does it say?”

“Nothing.”

“Then you won’t mind me reading it.” A large hand came out, palm flat.

“Really, it’s not something you would be – ah! Hey, stop that!” Chuck demanded, but Casey dove into the pocket, digging around. “It’s nothing, so stand down, Major!” His hand flew out to intercept him, but Casey already had the card lifted out of reach, squinting at the handwriting. 

“Where did this come from? And what the hell does it mean?” 

“Well, I think … you know, it’s probably not –”

“’Don’t do it’. The hell? Someone sending you a message, Bartowski?” Casey caught hold of his arm and leaned in eye-to-eye, his lips so close it brought heat to his cheeks. “Care to explain? I know you recognize the handwriting.”

“It’s … not import – ow! Would you not do that?” 

“Not playing this game. Answer, kid.”

“Bryce. Are you happy now? It’s Bryce’s handwriting.” Chuck huffed and pulled his arm back, a little indignant with the manhandling. “I would know it anywhere. He must’ve slipped it in there during all of the adrenaline pumping and near death moments last night. Which I never want to think about again, so thank you for that. ”

Casey scowled at the mention of his nemesis. “He’s warning you not to do it? Maybe telling you to save that virgin hole for his lit –”

“Whoa. Nice, Casey, but we covered this ground, or don’t you recall, Mister Superspy?” Chuck shot him a dirty look and steadied himself with a hand on the seat as the plane bumped to a halt. “I know you hate him, but –”

“Hate? Oh, hate doesn’t begin to cover it kid – and you can tell him too fucking late. Heh.”

In the dimness of the cabin, Chuck’s face lit up as he fought a furious blush. “He was my best friend. You tried to kill him – what, three times? I lost count – and now we’re together… well, it was just his way to get a reaction out of you, okay?” With Casey momentarily distracted, Chuck grabbed the card and stuffed it back in the pocket. “And surprise. It worked.”

“Fucking soap,” Casey groused. “I could’ve taken care of this problem.”

“Casey?” Chuck crossed his arms and lowered his head to peer out the portal window. Sure, he was still miffed over the crack about Bryce, but he needed to steer his boyfriend clear of the topic of soap. “The plane has come to a stop and maybe we should think about this problem, hmm?” 

Another look – one Chuck had labeled in his head as his boyfriend’s ‘Squint of Dire Warning’, and Casey unzipped one of the duffle’s side pockets, coming out with something in his fist. “Hold out your hand.”

“Uh, are you still mad at me, because if you are, I don’t think I should – gah. What are you doing?” 

“This.”

The wrist Casey had snatched a bit rudely was turned over, and before Chuck could try to pull back, a nerdy black strapped Casio was cinched around it. 

The kid looked down while Casey ran the band through the loop, fuming. “What is this for? Aren’t we past this stage?”

“You’re still the Intersect. I’m still your handler.”

“God, I hate this.”

“While you’re at it, here’s your phone too.”

“Oh, nifty.” Chuck goggled for a second, scanning the high-resolution screen any nerd would be proud to wield. “I’ll consider it a gift from the General, since she took my last one.” One last longing inspection, telling himself the setup features alone would keep him busy on the road trip, and he shoved it in his jacket. “Now what?”

“Walker said there would be an SUV waiting when the plane lands,” Casey replied, handing Chuck the black duffle bag. “Take this and get out there.”

“But, hold on.” It took Chuck a second to conclude he was being dismissed for a reason. His eyes widened when Casey started down the narrow aisle. “Wait.” He grabbed a fistful of Casey’s tac jacket and tugged until the larger man halted in his tracks. “What are you doing?” 

“Debriefing our friends up front. Need to ensure they have an air-tight cover.” He pulled back on his jacket and started to stride down the aisle. “Do as I say. Move it.”

“Whoa … whoa ….” At the suggestion of a debrief, Chuck felt his heart jump into his throat. He grabbed onto his jacket again. “You’re not going to … I mean, this debrief doesn’t include, let’s say, bullets or shrieks of terror from your victims … as they die a horrible death … boo bear?”

“God, I hate it when you call me that.” 

“Casey, you can’t just go into the cockpit and – what are you doing?” 

Chuck blinked at him, took in a breath. Just like that, Casey had wrapped his fingers around the hand still gripping the jacket and used it to pull the kid into him, his eyes so close. A thick arm wrapped around his waist until Chuck felt a hip bone – it was a hip bone, right? – jab his lower stomach. Casey held his face, brushed his lips over his, quick and hot. Not a kiss. A wakeup call. “Bartowski.” In a rough sweep, his mouth grazed over his stubbly jaw to his ear. “You listening?”

“Y-you have my attention.”

“Good.” Though the tickling of hot breath and the poking was not helping. “Walker said he’s a friend – the copilot. And I have to trust her on this. But the jock, I’m debriefing him, so you do as I say, eh?”

“Not … killing?”

He felt Casey shrug. “Traitorous scum, yes. Someone who’s on our side, no. That’s why I debrief him. See how this works, kid?”

Damn, this was not settling his stomach. It swirled with apprehension, like bad food that was moving, testing the lower belly. Chuck leaned in and smoothed his lips over the firm mouth, pressing in to steal one more warm kiss. “… Be a good boy, Major,” Chuck mumbled against his mouth. “Keep your plaything in your pants – and I mean the gun. Sarah wouldn’t have set us up.” 

Casey didn’t reply at first, just stood still until he swept the pad of his thumb over Chuck’s lips. Then he moved back and glanced to the cockpit. “Go,” he said, giving him a firm push towards the hatch. “Don’t want them to get another eye full of the nerd I’m traveling with.”

“Wow. Thanks. And here I thought you had developed a taste for it.” 

Casey rolled his eyes and let Chuck pass by in the narrow aisle. “Let’s just say,” he said, doling out a slap on his ass as he squeezed by, “it’s an acquired taste.” 

-x-

Unlocked. Keys dangling from the ignition. So far, no screw ups. But, the kid reminded himself, he was still Chuck Bartowski and the day was young.

Chuck opened the passenger door and threw the duffle over the seat. Sheesh. Does the NSA get a volume discount on black? Black paint, black leather seating. Didn’t they know it screamed G-Man? 

“C’mon, Casey, let’s just go,” he breathed, sliding into the seat. Running his sticky palms down his pant legs, the kid shifted his gaze to the Gulfstream and frowned, trying not to think of the conversation that would be going on in the cockpit right about now. Why was this taking so long? Chuck decided a suitable distraction would be the new gadget in his pocket. Leaning forward in the seat, he fished out the phone and began thumbing through the menu options –

That was when he felt something cold poking into the skin on the side of his neck. An icy nudge that reminded him a lot like a gun. A very big, heavy gun. Chuck swallowed to wet his throat, which did nothing to stop the hammering in his chest. 

Please don’t let it be real, the voice in his head chimed. 

“Miss me, asset?” The pressure on his neck increased, forcing a flinch. “’Cause, I’m glad to see you.”

“Oh, hell,” Chuck said, sliding the phone back into his pocket and raising his hands – not easy to do in such a confined space. “I gotta ask – is the gun really necessary, McClure?” Asshole. 

“Remember, asset. Sir to you.” Another curt poke with the gun. 

Damn. Chuck closed his eyes, resigned. Casey was not going to like this. Not at all. 

-x-

Being the size of almost two men had come in handy in life, he figured. An interrogation that could have some fucker thinking he was gonna slip one by could be circumvented with just the right amount of pressure. He liked to think of it as tactical persuasion. 

They always looked at his arms. Yeah, they’d get a little beady-eyed, talking faster when he stood close, looking down at them. Too easy. He always made a point to fold his arms over his chest and give them a good look at why they needed to shut the fuck up with excuses, and listen. Tell him what he needed to know. 

Sarah’s friend – and knowing Walker and that virginal act she’s got perfected, she probably means friend and not a guy she sucked off – well, he’s about to piss himself. That’s always a good sign. 

The other douche, he’s repeating back the cover story and trying to make a joke, but its lame. His eyes. Dark green with brown specks. Not like Chuck’s. He’s trying to stand up, gather his flightlog. Those hazel eyes shift, dodging a look out the sloped windshield to the SUV. He repeats the punch line, but Casey follows the track of his eyes to the vehicle sitting on the tarmac. 

Figuring that this couldn’t go to hell in the next five seconds wasn’t a safe assumption.

-x-

“Move over to the driver’s seat.”

“Uh, I think they took my driver’s license,” Chuck replied. “So, in effect that would be illegal for me to be the –”

“Do it.” The prod on the side of his neck dug in, forcing him to shift in his seat. “Get your ass over there,” McClure growled, his voice implacable. “You’re driving, geek.”

Chuck grimaced at the man in the rear view mirror. When he was growing up, Ellie had always taught him there was good in everyone, but as he searched the hardened features and dirty blonde brush cut with gelled points that could possibly pierce a brick, he could only think of one word. Jerk. 

Ellie’s lessons aside, Chuck decided to focus on bigger worries at the moment. Like this one: without a doubt, Casey was going to be pissed off that he didn’t check the back seat first. Isn’t that what a spy would’ve done? In his defense, though, the big bastard had to have been crouched down to hide such a bulky frame. 

Still, something told him Casey wouldn’t quite see it his way.

“Oh, and to answer your question?” Chuck offered, knowing his mouth just might get him in trouble. “I had my fill of lowlife pond scum in the bunker, so I didn’t miss you, but hey, thanks for asking.”

“Yeah? I didn’t miss that smartass mouth of yours.” A blunt, lightening quick cuff to the side of the head sent tiny pins of light to the outer edges of Chuck’s vision. “This time when you go back there, I’ll make sure I beat that out of you, asset.”

The kid bit his tongue to hold back a tumble of curses – that would only earn him another blow to the head and he wasn’t about to give this asshole the satisfaction of hearing him whimper. Giving him the stink-eye in the mirror while he rubbed his head, Chuck lifted his long legs over the center console, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I take it we’re not heading out to grab a sausage McMuffin for breakfast,” he muttered. “For my money, I prefer the breakfast croissant at the King, anyway.”

“Why don’t you keep your friggin’ mouth closed and get that goddamn look off your face. Put your hands on your knees and don’t move them.” The chilly tip of the barrel settled below his ear, pressing to his skull. “Can’t let the Major know we have another passenger, can we?” McClure pointed out. “You even try to tip him off as he’s approaching, and I shoot him right there. See that?” He swiveled the muzzle of the gun towards the plane. “I’ll leave his body on the tarmac and then, you and me? Yeah, we’ll go out for breakfast.”

Forget the odd memory that hit him. Something clicked, something that sounded like a bullet falling into a chamber, but in reality, the truth leeching into his brain. 

The Kill Order was real. McClure was going to kill John Casey.

Not the asset. Which meant the asset would have to stop him. 

Oh, crap.

Scenarios streamed like muddled video between his ears, but an idea struck. And, God, it was a horrible idea. One that could get him killed. Worse than that, one that would make Casey the person who would want to kill him. 

The kid took a deep breath. Well, this is it.

He straightened in the seat and pushed his fingers through his hair. Hell, his hands were shaking. Silently praying, he looked out the window intently, and a sweaty palm reached up – 

“What the hell are you doing? Keep your hands on your lap where I can see them.”

McClure can’t kill the asset, he repeated in his head, hoping with every fiber that it was true. Beckman wants the only copy of the Intersect back in the bunker. Right? Not Casey. He’s expendable. He’d be thanked for his twenty years of service with a neatly packed bullet in the frontal lobe. 

It was this insight that had hit him. Chuck sweat harder, feeling a tiny droplet fall between his shoulder blades under his jacket. Cringing for a blast if he was wrong about this, he brought up his hands. 

One landed on the horn, leaning in hard and not letting up. The other turned the key in the ignition. The engine responded. His legs felt like water, but he threw it in reverse and stomped on the gas.

“You little … sonovabitch!” The SUV careened in a sharp right turn, ricocheting McClure across the back seat and slamming him against the door. 

“Oh, crap, oh, crap … please no one be behind us ...!”

Swaying wildly side-to-side with the horn blaring, the SUV seemed to pitch up on two wheels when Chuck miscalculated the speed of the reversing turn he had set them in. Okay, he had never driven this fast backwards, so he had to cut himself a break. This was crazy and disorienting and freaking terrifying – and oh, by the way, it wasn’t helping the situation with a gun stuck in the side of his neck.

“Fuck.” McClure clenched his teeth and held on. But the Lieutenant didn’t become Beckman’s number two guard dog by being an idiot. The young agent recovered as quickly as it had taken him to get tossed on his side. “Stop the vehicle,” McClure grit out. “Now, nerd!”

“Oh, no, no, no ….” Chuck felt a new spurt of panic when a strong arm climbed over his shoulder and looped around his neck. “Ah! You’re … going to get us killed!” He struggled, trying to knock McClure’s arm away. “Let go.” 

Unfortunately, this was one order McClure wasn’t taking. Flexing his elbow, he squeezed in tight. “Foot off the gas,” the agent threatened, low and deadly to his ear. “Or, by God, I’ll squeeze the life out of you, asset.”

“Guh! Get your –” 

“Wrong answer, kid.” 

The arm strangled like an iron band around his throat. Chuck gasped, air shooting out of his windpipe. Not good … not good…! Reflexively, his hand came off the horn; he kicked out with his foot and clawed at the arm around his neck, but no dice. McClure had to be as strong as Casey. Another vain kick and Chuck hung onto the frantic edge, sparks in front of his eyes. Breath clogged in his mouth. 

“You put your foot on the brake and don’t move, and you get to breathe again. See how this is gonna work, asset?” McClure sneered. 

It left him no choice. Chuck put his foot on the pedal, easing them to a stop. The truck slowed. 

“Good.” McClure tightened the hold above his collarbone. Chuck felt his eyes bulging, his lungs constricting in his ribcage. “Now, you gonna listen?” The agent’s voice was deep, steady. “You wanna live, right?”

Everything around him was gray, blurry. There wasn’t any air. He thought he might actually pass out if he didn’t curb his stubbornness this one time. Chuck nodded and closed his eyes.

“Good boy.” McClure loosened his grip. “You can be smart, huh?”

Wheezing, Chuck immediately sucked in a huge breath and coughed into his sleeve for a minute. “Damn you. You could’ve gotten us killed!” 

“Me? I wasn’t the maniac that decided to drive away, asset.”

Ignoring him, Chuck turned in his seat, his gaze sweeping over to the plane, now at least a few hundred yards away. Mission accomplished, at least. “He’s been warned now, McClure,” the kid said, stopping to clear the gravelly croak in his throat. “And I don’t think you would’ve done it.”

“Done what?”

“Kill me.” Not like Casey was going to for sacrificing himself. “I took a bet. You’re under orders, aren’t you? Bring in the asset … with a pulse?” Rubbing his sore neck, Chuck darted a look over his shoulder and glared at the agent. “But you would’ve killed him either way. So, now he’s on to you. He’ll be gone.” 

“Really, asset?” McClure chuckled and adjusted the grip on his gun, stuffing it against Chuck’s temple. He seemed pleased when he got a wince. “Not my original plan, but thanks to you, I have his boy-toy now – and I’m gonna make a bet he won’t run without you.” Thick fingers threaded through Chuck’s hair from behind, curling and becoming taut. A beat later, McClure yanked his head back, coercing him to look up at the ugly patterned upholstery tacked to the ceiling. “You still listening, kid?”

Ow, ow, ow… but Chuck dug his teeth into the side of mouth and didn’t make a sound. No way would he give him the pleasure of knowing it hurt like hell. 

“Ya see, asset. You only prolonged the inevitable.”

There was a long wait, filled only with the sound of Chuck’s chest expanding and letting go with thick breaths. “Inevitable?” he managed to rasp. Dammit, ow! He squelched his eyes closed when the agent answered with another yank in his dark waves, constricting his fingers to hold him tighter. 

“Yeah.” McClure used the grip to give his head a shake. “You’re right about one thing. I’m not walking into an ambush now that he’s been alerted to a threat. We’re leaving – out the gate. But, I think I like it better this way, nerd,” he drawled, staring speculatively at the small plane. “John Casey will come crawling to me.”

-x-

He wanted to put his fist through the wall. Bruise his knuckles, feel the blast of pain explode in his hand. Who was he kidding? What he really wanted to do was put his fist through someone’s mug, starting at the top with Beckman and working his way down the food chain. 

Casey would never recall precisely what had caused him to look up, out the window to see Chuck climbing into the SUV, save the twitchy expression on the pilot’s face. A flick of his eyes. A distraction. There was a jerk of the man’s hand after that, when Casey knew he was going for a weapon.

His SIG was recoiling in his fist before the jackass in the pilot’s seat could level off the barrel of his Sigma 9m. God help the CIA cleaning crew on this morning’s shift. Close range head shot in a cockpit. Not the prettiest sight, but hey, now was not the time. He had to move fast. Deliberately, Casey steadied his stance and took aim at the co-pilot’s head next. 

“Stop! Don’t … God, please don’t! I have no idea why he pulled a gun!” The man’s hands flew up in surrender. “Sarah Walker! She asked me to help. I can call her – please.”

Casey stared at the trembling man for a long moment. He was utterly familiar with the outward signs of a practiced liar, and spent many hours in close quarters working the truth out of that particular type of scum. But this man … stuttering breath, face the pallor of a fish belly. He might just be the genuine article. 

Abruptly, Casey pressed the tip of the SIG’s barrel to the man’s forehead. “You have ten seconds to get her on the line,” he remarked coolly. “And you better hope to hell she can vouch for you.”

“I need to, uh, please don’t shoot me. I need to get my phone.”

Casey nodded and kept the muzzle of his gun where it was. Even as he watched the man’s hands to be certain he pulled out only a cell phone, he was vaguely aware of a movement past the co-pilot’s shoulder, out the front windshield. But he didn’t lift his gaze until the blare of the horn. 

And then, of course, it was too late.

No. Not the SUV. 

Idiot. Moron. Numb-nuts. Warning him. A trap. And he gave up the Intersect – no, himself – for Casey’s safety. By sheer force of will, Casey didn’t pummel the man in front of him just to take out his ire on something. For now. 

Because he was going to kill him for this stupid stunt. 

Christ. Perhaps not kill. Chuck is his boyfriend now, so no killing … no killing. He had to repeat it a few times, just to be sure every part of his brain heard the message. 

But kid … you are gonna be in a world of hurt for this boneheaded move.

“Sarah! Thank God! Your friend,” the man sputtered into his phone, snapping Casey’s attention back to his quivering captive. “The big one. He wants to kill me! 

-x-

They were going to be late if they didn’t hustle. And Team Larkin, as he preferred to think of it, was never late. 

Inclining his head, Bryce lifted his hand and tipped the bill of his hat down, attempting to cover his face. His friggin’ face. The one attribute that all his life had opened locked doors and raised more than a few short skirts, and now he had to hide it under a Washington Redskin’s cap, which only heightened his misery. The Jets were his team. At least the dark sunglasses, meant to cover his black eye, gave the illusion of cool. 

When they had met at the office an hour ago, Sarah had politely suggested that the CIA transport team wouldn’t ask as many questions if some of his bruises were under wraps. Operative or not, the ex-Marines could get a little cruel with their remarks, especially on the face of a pretty boy. She had smiled slyly when she said it. 

Like it wasn’t her fault the bruises were there in the first place? Her and Major John Casey, the big prick. Rogue spy still on the run with the only copy of the Intersect. God, what a mess this was. 

“Sarah, I think we need to talk about Casey,” Bryce started, keeping his voice hushed as the double glass doors swung open, triggered by a sensor. The partners had made it most of the way down the long, clinically white hallway that would lead them to the helipad – where they needed to be in two minutes or they would miss their ride to Andrews AFB, Bryce reminded himself. Holding the door, the agent turned around in the corridor when he didn’t get an immediate response. “What are you doing?”

Sarah had pulled up short a dozen paces behind him, eyeing the display on her cell phone. She bit down on her lip and shook her head. All of her aloof demeanor vanished from her face as soon as she answered the call. 

“Calm down.” Who was she talking to? He listened to Sarah speaking faintly, turning her back to face the wall. “Slow down, Tom,” she whispered. “Let me talk to him.” 

“Sarah?” Bryce studied her posture. Her shoulders were hunched, and the grip on her briefcase was making her knuckles white. “What’s going –”

“Not now, Bryce,” she hissed and waved him off. “Yes, I’m here.” The last was said into the phone. 

“Mrs. Anderson.” Annoyed at being brushed off, Bryce glanced down the corridor to see if they were being watched, and he took a step closer. “We have to go, honey. The team isn’t going to wait. We have to meet the transport at Andrews.”

“Where is he now?” Sarah asked, and if Bryce didn’t know better, he’d say he heard a slight quiver. What the hell? 

“Sarah –”

“– well, don’t take it out on me. You can kill him later. Just tell me –”

Bryce grabbed Sarah’s arm and pivoted her around to face him. “We have to go. Now.”

Quelling her exasperation, Sarah held up a finger and went back to the caller. “Hang on. I have to take care of something.” She lowered the phone and wrenched her arm free, a steely glint in her blue eyes. “Bryce, never do that again.”

“Do what, honey?”

“You’ll never get it, will you?” With one last meaningful look, the blonde turned on her three-inch spiked heels and walked – back down the hallway in the direction they had come, leaving Bryce with a cap, Risky Business sunglasses, and a perplexed look on his black-and-blue face.

The last thing he saw before Sarah Walker disappeared around a corner was a finger with a whole lot of other meaning, meant for him.

Bryce sucked in a breath and pulled down the glasses over his nose, peering over the top of the frames. 

It was them. Only Chuck Bartowski or John Casey could get her that riled up.

-x-

About fifty yards from the plane, Casey huddled down next to the wheel well of a late model Tahoe. He surveyed the small parking lot outside the hangar, and after a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered to himself. It didn’t do a lick of good.

Get your head out, he thought, chastising the man in the reflection of the Chevy’s front quarter panel. Think. 

The conversation with Sarah had spared the man’s life. It also pissed him off to no end that she had picked up on the raw anger in his usually controlled tone. Anger would get you killed. Emotions got you killed.

This was a lot easier before he met the fucking Intersect. 

Staying low, Casey edged alongside the vehicle until he was crouching at the rear of it. Shit, he hated these new security systems. What the hell was wrong with a crowbar to the steering column, a spark at the ignition, and the dust was blowing out the back before a hell bent teen could pop the top on his first cold one. Yeah, that’s how it used to be.

Now? Hell, GPS, satellite tracking, and high tech alarms made it infinitely more complex. Again, there was no luck on his side. A quick glimpse told him there were three guards approaching the Gulfstream. And they were all holding M9 pistols. The agent estimated he had about two minutes before every MP on the base was alerted to a possible ‘situation’. 

With his back against the side of the truck, Casey resigned himself to do the one last thing in the world he didn’t want to do and oh, yeah, he was going to take it out of his lanky ass for this –

Casey let loose an inaudible tirade of his favorite curses under his breath. “Don’t let him get you,” he ordered the man in the mirror shine of the back bumper. His lips tightened as he fished the cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the contacts. There was a pause, and he sat back and waited until he heard the familiar voice. “Hey, it’s me,” he said, dispensing with any greetings. “I need your skill set.”

When the man answered, his voice sounded sleepy. “Major? What’s going on?” 

Casey scowled. “I don’t have time to explain. Can you unlock and remote start a vehicle if I give you the license plate number. Just yes or no.”

“Where’s my son?” 

“Answer the question.”

“You lost him? You lost my son already! You had him for – what? Thirty-six hours, tops, and you lost him again! I knew I should’ve come with you –”

Eh. Perfect. Casey scrubbed the back of his neck and counted to five. Slowly. If anything, to avoid yet again, telling Orion, Chuck’s dad, to go fuck himself.

“I don’t have time for this,” Casey growled. He kept his voice even only by digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palm. There. Better. “Hanging up now –”

“Wait!” Stephen Bartowski burst in before he could disconnect, and he heard rustling that suggested Orion was on the move. “Yes. Okay, I can do it. Give me the plate number.”

Casey read it off quickly and heard the clacking of fingers to keyboard. Geeks. Always had a computer at hand. “If you can’t do this in thirty seconds,” he said, glancing at the guards who were now talking in their radios, “I need to move to Plan Beta, so you –”

“No faith, Major?” Stephen’s voice became comfortably nerdy, the tone Chuck acquired right before he won a digital battle of wits. “All right, I hacked the DMV, straight to the Dealer System to get the VIN, and now, thanks to the good folks at Onstar – well, this won’t make it to their commercial –” 

The soft click of the locks disengaging told Casey he should check the handle. “Okay, it’s open. Engine?”

The engine started before he could finish the sentence. 

“Well?” Stephen asked.

“I’m in.”

“Major.” Orion’s voice broke when he swallowed. “My son?”

“Will be fine. Yes, they have him again. I’ll get him back.”

It took him five interminably long seconds to reply. “How can you be so sure?”

Casey threw the SUV in reverse and gunned it, heading for the gates. “Because I’m going to give them what they want,” he said. “They want John Casey. Well … that’s what they’re going to get.” 

-x-

Chuck lifted his cheek off of the bristly carpet, not that it smelled bad or anything, though who knows what the CIA had hauled back there in the cargo space before him. In fact, the SUV still had the new car odor. Leather upholstery and that weird plasticky aroma that people seemed to like. 

Casey was going to kill him. 

Granted, not the most pleasant notion in these circumstances, he surmised, trying to straighten his knees. When that didn’t help, Chuck let his head rest against the carpet again and shifted his hips back. Great. Now the tracks that ran along the floor of the cargo area were digging into the side of his hips. He’d like to complain to the big jerk driving the SUV, but the duct tape over his mouth made that a bit problematic. The plastic zip ties that McClure had cinched tight around his wrists were to ensure the tape stayed where it was, though Chuck figured it would hurt like hell when he eventually yanked it off.

Maybe not kill … kill is rather harsh, don’t you think? But make his life miserable for this? Yeah, he would do that. 

The cargo space was not made for someone of his height. He was going to remind the asshole of that when he could move again. Or talk. His shoulders ached, and even though the agent tied his hands in front of him, his wrists and arms still had the tingling sensation that came with lack of blood flow. 

Okay, maim. Casey might just maim him? You know, body parts that aren’t needed for the Intersect. Oh. Or other parts he had grown fond of. 

A veer to the left caused Chuck to bring out his knees to keep himself from rocking to the side. How long had they been moving? An hour. He had taken Chuck’s phone, but not his watch. Noticing it on his wrist, McClure laughed. And it didn’t take a genius to understand why: he wanted Casey to come to them.

Chuck looked ahead at the storage compartment – it had taken some fumbling with his hands like this, but he had checked it. Locked, of course. C’mon, Intersect. Anything?

Nothing. Figures the damn thing would run into hiding when he needed it.

The kid closed his eyes and breathed in, very deeply and let it out slow. Careful to avoid the painful protruding track this time, he bumped along on the mat again, the other part of his brain scrambling for a trick to get out of this mess …. 

He could overpower McClure … who notably is as large as Casey … take the keys … and his gun … okay, the zip ties might just cause a little problem there … then he could –

… I am so screwed. 

That was when he felt the SUV slowing down. A left, two rights … stopping at a light … and why is he counting? He had no freaking idea where they were! Tilting his chin up, Chuck caught sight of a brick building, two stories high, tall long windows on the second floor, which was the only thing he could see from this cramped vantage point. 

The vehicle drew to a halt. McClure cut the engine, and Chuck heard the driver’s side door open and close. Bracing himself, the kid moved his legs and cranked around so that when the back hatch opened – 

He kicked, lashing out with one of his black Chuck’s, aiming for McClure’s nether region. But because these plans never quite work out as he intended, the burly NSA agent grabbed his ankle before he could make contact – and twisted, hard. The kid could see muscles bunching along the agent’s arm as he turned up the pressure. 

“Mmgh.” Chuck tried to pull back, but that was useless. In an arm wrestling match, there was a chance McClure’s grip could rival Casey’s. That was a battle he never wanted to witness.

“C’mere, asset.” McClure used the hold on his foot to yank him out the back of the SUV. “I have a job for you.” 

Chuck lurched but caught his balance. He felt his brow wrinkle, frowning deeply. Job? The kid had no idea what the man had in mind, but he hoped it involved removing the duct tape. That was the only way he could tell him to go the hell with his job. 

“Move it,” the agent ordered. 

Chuck jut out his chin and pinned him with a black look. It belied what was right under the surface. How did his life become this? Because the only thing he knew was that he had been loaded into the truck, and he needed to focus on where they were. He made himself look around, stumbling over some loose rock when McClure noticed and gave him a push. 

“Keep walking.” 

Chuck would’ve liked to have gotten a better look, but what he could see made his heart sink. McClure had led him to a remote industrial site that looked like it had been abandoned years ago. A large space with echoes and a sea concrete. And no one was in sight. 

Another shove sent him forward, around a corner and to a dead end wall. The agent crowded him backwards until the bricks dug into his shoulders and spine, like tiny nails. Bastard. Chuck grunted, but didn’t make another noise. 

“I’m going to take off the tape,” McClure told him, lowering his voice to a menacing depth. “You yell or draw attention?” Smiling, he lifted his gun and put it in front of Chuck’s face. “I remove fingers one by one … with this. Got it, kid?”

Over the strip of tape, Chuck’s eyes clouded up at him. Like hell. 

“Fine. We can do it that way.” McClure simply pointed the gun at his hand, more specifically, his thumb. 

Oh, shit shit shit –! He would so do it. The kid made a noise of frustration, but with his heart pounding, he eventually narrowed his eyes and nodded. Once. 

“Trainable, too. Good.” With no warning, the tape came off in a brusque tug. Chuck expected to see skin or this morning’s scruff attached to it – and a groan was right there in his throat, ready to burble up, but he squared himself against the wall and bit it back. Anything to stop the sounds that McClure would love to hear. 

Truthfully, he was tired of being led on a leash by Beckman’s drones for the past week. The morning air had cooled him, giving him a jolt of bravery. Or stupidity, as Casey would’ve called it. He cleared the saliva that had pooled in his throat and met McClure’s stare. “You know what you can do with your job?” Chuck said, dark eyes becoming sharp. “Go fuck yourself with it.”

“Watch the mouth, asset.” McClure made a scoffing sound and leaned in with an elbow on Chuck’s chest, driving his back against the rough edged bricks. He tapped his cheek, not gently. “Oh, you’ll like this task.” One more poke, and he pulled out Chuck’s phone, the one the kid had had in his possession for precisely ten minutes before it was stolen off of him. Narrowing his eyes, McClure searched the contacts. “Nice of your boyfriend to provide this, eh? I was wondering how we would contact him to let him know how this little exchange is going to work, but he solved that problem.”

“Exchange?”

McClure thought for a second and hit a button on the phone. “Good point, asset. Maybe exchange isn’t the right term here. It means there would be an actual trade of goods, and in the end … well, Beckman will have you and the Major.” The agent shrugged, listening into the phone. “His body at least.”

“His body?” Chuck felt everything slamming around him. His belly flipped upside down, burning in the pit of it. “You … son of a –” His knee came up to kick again, but McClure pushed back. He grabbed the zip tie around Chuck’s wrists and jerked his hands, then twisted cruelly, cutting off blood flow with the movement. Holy sh –

“Easy there, asset.” Methodically, he smiled and flattened the muzzle to the kid’s thumb. “Take the phone. You say anything I don’t like, I pull the trigger.” He rapped the knuckle to make his point and put the cell in his hands. “And you’re a smart boy, right? You know exactly what I don’t want to hear. You just say hi to your boyfriend for me. Tell him you’re just peachy – for now, anyway – and then we’ll make arrangements.” 

“Take it? But I – how can I –?” Chuck nearly dropped the phone, but bungling for a few seconds, he finally maneuvered it between his fingers. “It’s not easy like this,” he said, nodding at his tightly bound wrists. “You could take this off, you know.”

“Talk.” The jab to his thumb increased in pressure.

Chuck glowered and bit down on his lips.

McClure jabbed again and the kid half expected another cuff on the side of his head. Instead, he heard a click – the safety on the gun disengaging.

Shit. Chuck could feel the blood draining out of his face. He was quite fond of his thumbs – all of his fingers for that matter. Sighing, he sank back against the wall and looked up at the patches of sky and clouds beyond the roofline. 

Now was the time to trust that Casey would have a plan.

After Casey killed him, that is.

“Say hello, lover boy.” McClure smirked.

Chuck glimpsed at his wrists and heaved a sigh. Just get it over with. 

He eyed the phone in his hands, lifting it to his ear. “Uh, Casey?” Chuck kept his voice light, which he figured was the opposite of how he felt. “Hey … it’s me.”

“Chuck.” 

Oh, yeah – suspicion confirmed. John Casey sounded pissed. 

Chuck bit off an explanation, doubting it would help his cause. Face it, he told himself. He was officially in deep water with his boyfriend. 

Oh God.

x-End Way Back Chapter Eight-x


	15. Chapter Nine

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Nine)

-x-

Casey had a name for every occasion. Moments of restrained fury, of complacency … in the flash of shattering passion.

Once, while tangled on their bed in the darkness, Chuck’s wobbly knees sinking into the comforter with every muscle ready to split, Casey buried deep … well, even his johnson had been promoted to The Big Colonel that night. Wanted to hear him say it.

Yeah, he liked names.

And despite the fact that Chuck had a perfectly suitable name on his driver's license, Casey had come up with an array of revealing labels for his boyfriend in any given mood. Ones that had progressed through the stages of their relationship. Moron, Geek, and Idiot had slowly transformed into Kid, Sport, and more often, simply Chuck. It was no mistake that the names had softened the deeper Chuck had wheedled his way under Casey’s skin and into his life. And later, into his warm – okay, maybe at first strikingly intimidating – king-sized bed. Then there were other names that would make Chuck blush at the breakfast table. 

“Chuck.” 

“Uh, yeah?” So far, so good, Chuck told himself, because his boyfriend had been able to refrain from using the more disparaging names in his arsenal. “Are you –?” 

“Numb-nuts!” Casey’s voice was a fierce growl of exasperation. “What the hell were you thinking, moron!” It was said in a way that told the kid he sure as hell didn’t want to hear the answer. 

“Casey … calm down, Casey. Hear me out, okay?” Pausing to wet his throat, Chuck fumbled with the phone, making the plastic zip ties bite into the flesh at his wrists. “Ow … ow …. Can we get rid of these, McClure?” he asked, deepening his glare at the man. “You have a gun. Are the ties necessary?” 

McClure rolled his eyes and pushed the gun right above the waistband of Chuck’s jeans. “Let’s get this over with. Tell him you’re fine and forego the sappy shit. Then I’ll talk to him.” 

Chuck bit off a retort that would get him in trouble. Besides, if he only had a minute or two, the priority was to soothe the ill-tempered beast on the line. He looked down at this feet and sighed. “Listen, Casey, I think you need to –”

“You’re fine?” Casey wanted to know. “Still got all your limbs attached?”

“Yes, it’s been nothing like that, but –”

“Good,” Casey replied. “Because, when I get my hands on you, Bartowski?”

Warning bells sounded in his head. “Y-yeah?”

“I’m gonna kick your nerdy ass so hard, you’ll be shitting out of your geek ears for a week!”

Chuck bristled. Pointing out that he had saved Casey was an argument the agent wasn’t ready to accept. “You’re doing an excellent job controlling your anxiousness for my safety,” he said, not exactly keeping the sarcasm in check. “Really remarkable the way you removed the concerned boyfriend overtones that one would expect in this situation. Nice work, Casey.” 

“A situation that you got yourself into.”

“And while we’re at it, may I remind you that what you described – you know, my ass kicking and all?” Chuck looked to the side, the glare now meant for his boyfriend. “It’s a physically impossible feat, and one that you might want to take off your list of threats.”

“We’ll see.” Chuck could hear him grinding his teeth in frustration, probably thinking of twelve different ways he could make it work. 

“Okay, okay.” The kid groaned to himself and tipped his head back against the rough-edged brick wall. God, he could be a bullheaded ass. “I get it. You’re mad and this is all my fault, right?”

“Just kiss and make-up, lover boy,” McClure broke in, sounding amused. “This is taking too long. We got a schedule to keep, asset.”

“Give us a minute?” Chuck plastered on a cowed expression – which wasn’t too much of a stretch considering there was a large gun pressing into his stomach. “It’s the last time we’ll be able to talk like this, right?”

McClure narrowed his eyes, gave him a smirk. “Yeah, it is,” he said, and thinking about it, he adjusted the gun so that it was no longer pressed to his shirt. “Fine. One minute, asset. Say your goodbyes.”

Chuck nodded and kept his features subdued as he turned to lean against the wall. When McClure couldn’t see his face, he rolled his eyes. Asshole. Didn’t he know? Given the first opportunity – and there would be one – Casey was going to rightfully kick his arrogant backside off the map. McClure really was not going to be long for this world, the kid suspected, shaking his head. But first he had to deal with his … somewhat rankled boyfriend. 

Chuck let out another sigh. “I’m back,” he said, casting a glance towards the truck. “We need to talk fast.”

“Yeah, well,” Casey started in, “to answer your question, damn straight this is your entire fault. I’m gonna ask you again, Bartowski, what the hell were you thinking? Didn’t I just tell you that the Intersect was our bargaining chip? One that Beckman’s –”

“He was going to kill you! Are you forgetting that little detail?!” Chuck hissed into the phone. A sheen of sweat popped up on his skin, half due to the fever, and half due to a stand-off with the most stubborn man on the planet. “There’s a kill order and he was lining up his shot – you should be thank –”

“Thankful,” Casey sliced in with a flat, deadly tone, and Chuck was pretty sure he could hear veins popping. “You didn’t trust that I would’ve pegged this for a trap by then? That this was a set up? That when I debriefed the pilot, I wouldn’t notice the twitch – or when he went for his gun?”

“His gun? But … but I didn’t think –”

“No, you didn’t think. You did what you usually do and ran into a burning house in nothing but your goddamn underwear.” If Casey was clawing for his calm center, this was not the time to tell him to dig harder, Chuck thought. “You lacked faith in my abilities to identify a threat,” Casey went on. “You didn’t think that even if the pilot would’ve gotten past me, that I would’ve noticed your face. That you were in danger.”

“You were the one in danger!” Chuck took a step along the wall to put some distance between himself and McClure, knowing the big jerk wouldn’t let him get too far anyway. “Kill order, remember?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Casey acknowledged, “But a danger I could’ve dealt with then and there. Not like this. This wasn’t the plan, Bartowski.”

Well, at least he wasn’t an Idiot this time.

“Just to let you know,” Chuck said, “this conversation has crossed the brink of crazy.” 

There was a pause on the other end, wide enough for him to have to bite down on the urge to fill it. Full of so many things he needed to say, things right there that he would only whisper if they were curled up together in the dark....

No. This man is freaking impossible.

“Casey, I’m sorry that you –”

“Shut it,” Casey cut in before he could ramble on. “Don’t wanna hear your excuse or version of this story. Put the asshole on the line.” 

Chuck closed his hands tightly around the phone, chewing on his bottom lip. It was getting really hard to talk. “That’s it, John?” 

“For now.” 

Over his shoulder, he could hear McClure take a step closer, boots crunching in the loose gravel and staying right on his tail. “End it,” he said.

Chuck stared at the brick wall and shook his head, numb. A Wall. How could he make his lover-handler-boyfriend-whatever understand that he was willing to trade his life for his? A thousand times over if it ever came to that. 

“It’s not that simple anymore, and you know it, John. You can’t just think I’m –” 

“Don’t you fucking dare argue with me on this. Not now.” Casey’s low tone was capable of scratching from the inside. “I said put the asshole on the phone.”

“Casey, I’m ….” Sorry. But damn him. Casey wasn’t about to grant forgiveness for something he knew full well Chuck wasn’t really sorry for. The kid shoved off from the wall, frowning. “Okay, fine. For now. But this conversation isn’t over, John,” Chuck said. “Bye.” 

Oh, that’ll piss him off. Using his first name like that and not letting him have the last word. 

“Give it to me.” McClure held out his hand.

“Here.” Chuck grappled a bit with the phone, and then held it out to McClure. “He said he wants to talk to the asshole.”

“Oh, really?” McClure’s voice was gravelly, his blue eyes pinned to his face. Chuck watched him take another stride closer, his jaw tensing as he took the phone. “Still with the smart mouth, eh, asset? You know, it might be time for a lesson.”

Chuck gave him dark look, hating himself for swallowing hard and knowing McClure could see his throat bobbing, a nervous gesture. The man was enjoying this, the dominance, the taunts. Don’t let him, the kid warned himself, felt his hands reflexively clench into fists. 

“A lesson? Really, McClure? What could you possibly –”

The butt of his gun swung out, crashing to his temple.

The concrete rushed up to meet his face with a sick thud. 

After that, all he saw was a cover of black.

-x-

The knocking sound – soft, no rhythm – was slurring around his head. Go away. Please go away. 

They never listen. Always come back. The roll of knuckles, then tapping. Sharp, impatient. 

Not as sharp as the railroad pick of agony being driven into his temple. 

Straightening one leg under him, he shifted his shoulders and pushed, needing to roll over onto his back. 

Oh, God. Bad Idea. 

In an instant, every joint was flooded with a million pinprick sensations, his skull ready to burst. He heard a groan, felt a tickle in his own throat. 

It was him. His sounds. Couldn’t talk. 

Brown shag carpet. Like the house on Elm, growing up. Except this held the smell of dampness, mold. Acrid urine and cigars. Stiff, bristly, pressed to his cheek. There were blood stains on the carpet, under his head. The only thing that was fresh. 

Holy Christ, it hurt. Chuck thought he should be concerned about the drying blood, but he would deal with that later. At the moment, his skin was too hot, humid beads of sweat on his cheeks, trailing like a path of hot oil down his neck and collar bone. 

The closed off, re-circulated air made the room stuffy; the space was humming like a hive in the summer. He had to focus. Headlights of passing cars swept ghost-like splotches of light over the walls, then gone. The flashing beams only made the headache a thousand times worse. Lowering his head, he jerked reflexively at the blood when his cheek almost touched it. Chuck grimaced – but the twitch of his facial muscles sent a spark of pain between his eyes. 

He closed them. 

That was good. That worked. 

There was no elbowroom, but his brain sent a signal to his arms to move. It took only a second until he knew they weren’t taking orders, however, since they were cinched behind his back. 

Great. Where was he?

Chuck managed to point his chin up towards the ceiling, though the movement shot a twinge of misery along his neck. Bright white cottage cheese texture. A comforter that hung loosely down to the ground, brushing his shoulder. Why was he lying next to a bed on the floor? 

A face filled his line of sight. Short spiky blonde hair. Glacial eyes. Tight black t-shirt clinging to stupid taut muscles. “Does your head hurt, kid?” the man asked. Why was he smiling? The large stranger got down on his haunches and tapped his cheek. But it wasn’t his cheek. It was something sticky and plastic over his mouth. 

Chuck’s eyes swam, trying to zoom in on the angled face. Blurry. Moving. He blinked, sweaty and unfocused, wavering.

“Try to keep the talking down.” Chuck saw a hand, an almost enormous bear paw, reaching to his face. Tried to bump his head out of the way. And then there was low laughter. More knocking. Carefully, the man smoothed the swatch over his mouth and gave a tug on his hands behind his back, testing. He winked and stood up. “The pizza’s here,” he announced. 

Pizza? He was going to be sick. His head was spinning, the walls stuttered. 

He managed to kick the man before he passed out.

-x-

“Asset.”

A nudge of something pointy jabbed into Chuck’s ribs. He groaned and his eyes opened to slits. When he inclined his head down – oh, God, that hurt like hell – a pair of black scuffed boots came into his vision. 

“Ass-set.” 

That voice. Fuzzy memories rolled over him. So did the pain. Always logical, the kid began running through a quick mental checklist. His hands? Tied behind his back. Crap. Mouth? Taped. Double crap. Four ugly white walls with generic artwork, a striped brown beige and mauve comforter next to his face. Flea bag motel. Chuck wriggled his shoulders to look up, let his eyes track past the boots, a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and up. His eyes fluttered and zeroed in on a face with more barbed corners than a saw blade. McClure.

Asshole.

“Ass-hat,” McClure said in a sing-song voice, trying to get a reaction. Not moving, Chuck just glared at a spot on the floor. “Huh. Well, c’mere.” The agent knelt down on the carpet and wrapped a hand around Chuck’s bicep, fingers digging in. Though every movement reminded him of a million aches, he didn’t make a sound, even as McClure used the grip to flip him over to face him. Which meant his hands were now squished under the small of his back. 

Ow.

“We need to have a little chat, kid.” 

To that, Chuck made a noise in his throat. Three distinct noises, actually, and he hoped McClure could hear the ‘go to hell’ despite the duct tape. 

“Whatever it is, save it.” McClure leaned forward, putting his face directly over him. “We’re going out today. To meet your boyfriend, as a matter of fact,” he told him. “I need to know that you’re going to be on your best behavior, eh, asset?” His eyes drew to the side of Chuck’s face and he tapped his temple. “You need a reminder?”

Ow, ow, ow … again. Chuck’s eyes darkened. He felt hot, sick and trapped – most of all, scared for Casey, but he would never let on to this big bastard. He didn’t blink, didn’t make a sound. 

“The rules are gonna be the same. You talk, you alert anyone to your situation, I shoot. Fingers. Toes. Your pecker. I don’t care, as long as you still have a pulse.” McClure held up a Desert Eagle that would make Casey turn several shades of green with envy. “And if you do anything cute when we meet up with your handler … well, then, I shoot him. Are you getting all this, kid?” He grinned down at him. “By that, I mean nod if you understand. I expect compliance today.”

Compliance? Chuck fingers tightened into the carpet underneath him, just to feel something, even a ripple of pain up his arms. A brighter, defined light edging into his consciousness was giving him a better look at the circumstances than the first time he woke up. That McClure wasn’t the only sadistic bastard in the NSA.

Sure. He could be compliant. Until Casey, spitting bullets, kicked McClure’s ass with a two by four and a rusty nail gun. 

… which was going to happen sometime either before or after Casey kicked his boyfriend’s ass, that is. 

Oh, God, not now … 

Looking up, he forced his attention back to the unsmiling face looming over him, blonde spikes wreathed in an odd light. After what he judged was an appropriate reluctance, he swallowed and gave McClure his best browbeaten look. Slowly, Chuck nodded. 

“Good.” With no warning, the tape was ripped from his face. 

“… sonova – gah!” Dammit. Why didn’t he expect how painful it was after the first time? “Did you have to do it like that!”

“Just like a band-aid, asset.” McClure chuckled. “Roll over.” Not waiting for agreement, he pushed on his shoulder until Chuck found himself smack on his stomach, face first in the smelly brown carpeting. He felt a tug at his wrists, a back and forth sawing motion, and the zip tie was gone.

Relief should’ve swamped him, but in truth, the unbinding only made the pain bloom through his back and arms. “Oh, hell,” Chuck breathed into the matted down mess. He tried to turn his head and lift up, right when a hand landed under his collar and fisted his shirt. 

“Get up, asset.” 

Being hauled to his feet like a sack of potatoes did nothing for his head or any part of his body. He stumbled against the foot of the bed, blaming it on the way the room was swimming and swirling unpleasantly. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around the smallish, dumpy sleeping quarters. “Where are we?” he asked, turning to frown at the big dope.

“Does it matter?” McClure eyed him carefully. “Get the blood off your face and make yourself halfway presentable, nerd.” He slanted his head towards a doorway. “We’re going to a public place, and I don’t need you bleeding all over the truck. Clean yourself up. Oh, and one more thing.” McClure held out a hand when Chuck started to take a step towards the bathroom. “Keep the door open.”

“The door … open?” Chuck looked at him in confusion, and then folded his arms over his chest. “That’s rather disgusting, you know. Just sayin.’” 

“Yeah, well just do it. Can’t have my insurance policy slipping out the window.”

“Um, I don’t know if you noticed,” Chuck replied, peering around the corner, “but there’s no window in here.”

McClure looked up from the ammo he had started to sort – he really was Casey in some evil retrograde, sideways universe, Chuck figured – and gave him the stink-eye. “Are you always this literal, asset?”

Chuck scowled. “I don’t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?”

“I’m about ready to change the rules about when I will shoot you.”

“Fine. I’ll just use my finger.” And – oh hell – he wanted to give that to him. Instead, he gave him a look of daggers one more time and ducked around the corner to stand in front of the sink.

“Your finger. Now who’s gross,” he heard McClure mutter, sounding satisfied that the threat seemed to get him moving.

The kid felt a snappy comeback on his tongue – until he shifted his gaze to the man in the mirror. “Oh my God,” he murmured. His eyes panned over his face, and he swiveled his head side to side to survey the damage. The right temple and cheek, trailing down to his jaw, were smudged with dried blood in brown-purple patches, thanks to the smack with the butt of the gun. No doubt, it was definitely going to leave a bruise. 

Ellie cannot see that. She would ricochet into big-sister-doctor mode like a caffeine-cranked ninja. There was not a cover story in the world that would placate her.

And great, his watch was gone. This only meant that sometime later, McClure must’ve opted for deactivating it when he reconsidered the blowback of his bluster. Didn’t he say ‘John Casey will come crawling to me’? 

Coward. 

Fully awake now, Chuck rubbed his palm over his cheek, scruffy with a few days of stubble. Sighing, he searched for a razor, until logic told him his captor wouldn’t just leave one lying around. McClure was a dick, not stupid. There was a difference, Chuck concluded, grabbing a washcloth and running the water. 

Oh. Right. The sound only reminded him that he had to take a leak. Door open or not, Chuck took care of business and washed his hands, then his face, wincing when he pressed too close to the bruise. Of course, McClure hadn’t thought of giving him a drink, so turning the faucet to cold, cupped his hands under the water and slurped. The cool water in his throat made him feel slightly less dead. 

Whoa. The hair. Forget the funny animal shapes. These were underworld creatures with tentacles and fangs. Or looping question marks and exclamation points of brown wavy tufts. Shrugging, he smoothed it out as best he could with his fingers and shook his head. Okay, that was as good as it’s going to get. He huffed at his reflection and looked down, his eyes landing on a white toothbrush at the edge of the counter. McClure’s. Not exactly a weapon of choice like a razor would’ve been. 

“You about done in there, asset?” McClure called from the bedroom. 

“Miss me?”Chuck called back, doing nothing to keep the sarcasm in check. Well, the toothbrush might come in handy, after all. He glanced over his shoulder, snatched it off the counter, and gave it good swish around the lower bowl. When he was done cleaning up, it left a path of drips from the toilet back to the countertop. 

Petty, maybe, but when he caught a glimpse of the purple bruise in the mirror, Chuck smiled. “All yours,” he said innocently as he strolled round the corner. 

“Sit there.” McClure pointed to a chair at the table right outside the bathroom. “Eat.”

“Oh. Hardened pizza.” Chuck sniffed, eying the two slices that seemed to be adhered to the box. “You really went all out.”

“And shut your trap otherwise.” 

“By the way, are you going to leave the door open?” Chuck asked, taking a seat at the table and slouching back in the chair. “Because, well, I am trying to eat here.”

“How John Casey has not killed you by now is a mystery. Or a testament to how soft he’s become.” McClure slid the box in his direction. “I said eat.”

Chuck wrinkled his nose and his lips tightened – more because of the insult to Casey than the order. But when McClure disappeared around the corner, he dove in like a wolf to a rabbit. Stiff pizza or not, he couldn’t remember his last meal. 

To his amazement, pepperoni and onion pizza that had been congealing in cardboard for twelve hours suddenly tasted quite palatable. 

It came right about the moment he heard McClure brushing his teeth.

-x-

“When did we get to Burbank?” Chuck asked, looking out the passenger side window.

McClure grunted. “You were napping, asset. You missed the drive down.”

“So.” Chuck lifted his wrists from his lap, inspecting the zip tie that McClure had slapped on him when they left the room. “A public place, huh? We wouldn’t be going to the Buy More, would we?”

McClure took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot Chuck a sour look. “Seriously, asset? You think I would waltz into your home territory with those morons? Let you try to alert one of them? Your best friend, or should I call him, your platonic boyfriend? The one that doesn’t fuck you?” 

“Hey! Wait – did you just say fuck you?”

“Yeah.” McClure turned to give him a withering stare. “And did you say you wanted to keep all your teeth?” 

“Again, why are we not meeting at the store?” Chuck asked, dodging the topic of missing incisors. He was quite fond of his teeth the way they were.

“Heh.” The agent reached into the console and fished out his sunglasses, sliding them on. “I spent a week there as a quality auditor, and we’re not going back.”

“But the Large Mart Plaza is right there.” Chuck tilted his head towards the strip mall on the right. “I haven’t clocked in for a week, you know, and I wouldn’t mind checking in on –”

“I’m sure they haven’t even noticed,” McClure said, shutting him up. But Chuck was surprised when he turned into the Plaza, driving through the parking lot and around to the back. “We’re going to a neutral zone, idiot, but close enough to Castle’s holding cells.” He threw the SUV into park and cut the engine. “No sign of your boyfriend yet. But we know he’ll be here. Won’t let anything happen to you, hmm?” 

The nerd decided to withhold his opinion, instead straightening his shoulders and admiring the view behind the Large Mart Plaza. It wasn’t much to look at. Back entrance service doors for each business lined the long cinder block building. A few brown corrugated dumpsters skirted the back of the parking and loading zone. If he squinted, he could pick out two of the green shirts on the far end of the plaza, unloading boxes of grills. Huge, heavy boxes, by the looks of it. 

They were probably wondering where Casey was this morning. 

So was he.

Chuck flashed a look to the sign above one of the doors. “Mel’s Diner? Are you serious?” he stammered. “This is where we’re meeting up?” 

McClure shifted in the driver’s seat and pocketed the keys. “You got a problem with this place, asset?”

“Besides the obvious exploitation of a mediocre sitcom? Uh, no, not a problem,” he added quickly when he realized McClure might just throttle him on the spot. “It’s just that I didn’t expect to be eating again so soon after the pizza.” 

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re not eating. You’re just gonna sit there with that big trap shut like a good boy, and let the grown-ups work this out. But, me?” McClure let his eyes travel from the rearview mirror to the side mirror. “I’m having a piece of apple pie. You see, asset, I found this place when I spent a week of hell undercover at the store. It was the only good thing about this assignment.”

“Wait a minute.” Chuck’s eyes widened. “You picked the plaza … because of your stomach? Because of pie?”

McClure put on a cold smile and reached into the back seat. “Gotta have a way to celebrate the successful end of a mission.” Grabbing something from the back, he held it out in front of Chuck. “Lift up your hands,” he ordered. 

“My hands?” Chuck almost shook his head, but decided McClure would lift his hands anyway. So with eyes clouding up at the over-sized jackass, he finally raised them out in front of him obediently. “Good. I was hoping you would take this off. Don’t want to draw attention, right McClure?” His snarky tone was hitting the threshold that earned him a cuff to the side of the head the day before. Right now, he didn’t care. “Wasn’t that one of your threats?”

“Yeah, which is why you’re gonna hold this old jacket. Like this.” McClure looped it over Chuck’s wrists, methodically tying the sleeves together to keep it in place, covering the zip ties. “There.” He tapped his cheek. “See? You are useful. Now move your skinny ass.” 

The kid would’ve given the Lieutenant a sarcastic salute but for the pesky issue that his hands were pinned together. It took him a few seconds, bumbling with the handle, before he managed to pop the door open. McClure was already standing at the side of the SUV when Chuck climbed out, pushing the door closed with his hip.

“So where is your lover-boy, kid?” McClure snickered. “Maybe he's had his fill of nerd love and changed his –” 

“McClure.”

“What -?” Chuck whirled and suppressed a yelp when he recognized the familiar low rumble. 

“Stay.” Clutching Chuck by the elbow, McClure glowered at the intruder who had materialized from nowhere, and was now standing a dozen paces from them. Obviously, the younger agent was ticked-off that he had missed a man the size of a grizzly bear on two feet approaching from the side. Not the finest moment of his career. Stepping forward, McClure let out a low growl. “Look who showed up.” 

“Casey,” Chuck managed. Because really, he wondered, where the hell did he come from? With one look, the kid felt a surge of relief. Thank God. A dozen terrible things could’ve gone wrong between Vandenberg and Burbank, but Casey got out okay. 

Better yet, after the rather heated conversation the day before, he hadn’t ditched him and left the country, so … there was that, at least. 

“John Casey. Rogue NSA killer,” McClure said, folding his arms over his chest. “Glad you could join us.”

Casey adjusted his stance, crossed his arms in a mirror movement. “Of course you’re glad. If you eat alone, there’s no one you can stick with the tab in this joint, eh?” 

“Lucky me. You have a smart mouth like this one,” McClure responded, giving Chuck a small shove. “You must like it, huh? No wonder you arranged to make your asset your fuck buddy. Bet you two can trade one-liners all night. Is that right, John?”

Oh, shit. Chuck flinched, and then peeked at the man next to him, expecting to see McClure’s head explode like a clay pigeon on a target range. No one talks to Casey like that. Well, and lives, that is. Surprisingly, however, when he glanced over, McClure was still standing next to him with that smug look on his face, trying to gauge Casey’s reaction.

But Casey ignored McClure. When Chuck realized why he had let it go, a swelter washed over his body. It seemed Casey was too busy staring at him. 

“Hey … Casey.” Chuck tried to wriggle a few fingers, forced a smile.

When Casey said nothing, Chuck’s smile faded. He wanted to squirm. Blue eyes that were brilliant, even from a distance, sized him up head to toe. Gazing back at him, the kid stood stock-still under the examination – hell, let him see it, bruises and scruff and pain – but after a stretch of time, he swallowed and looked away. Well, he knew he looked like shit warmed over on hot pavement. Did Casey have to look at him like that? 

The silence was weighted. Chuck tried to follow Casey’s thoughts, but concluded that God only knows what he’s thinking, because his face gave nothing away.

By the looks of it, though, the NSA agent had fared much better during the past twenty-four hours. His black polo looked crisp, as usual. He had rustled up a pair of dark jeans and black boots, his go-to wardrobe when ass kicking was on the agenda … which was perhaps why it was the standard uniform this sunny morning. And unlike Chuck, it looked like he had managed to find a shower and a shave. He stood to his full height, his large hands draped over his pockets, thumb tucked into a belt loop. 

The kid bit down on his lip. His boyfriend looked … pretty damn good, truthfully.

“John. Let me remind you of the rules we discussed yesterday.” Any civilized veneer of the dialogue was gone. Deliberately, McClure lifted the edge of his jacket to show what was tucked in his belt – a very large gun resting in a holster. “Number one.” He grabbed Chuck by the upper arm and gave him a little thrust. “I keep it pointed at him,” he said coolly. “We’re gonna have a little talk. Inside. But first, I need you put your hands on the wall.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Casey snorted. “I told you I would come unarmed.”

The younger agent gave a little laugh and jerked his head towards the side of the building. “See the problem is, I really don’t trust you, John.” Something snagged Chuck from behind and pushed him up against the SUV. He lurched, then wrenched his arm from McClure’s grip and gave him a dirty look. “Stay, asset,” McClure ordered. “I gotta frisk your boyfriend, so if that bothers you, you might wanna turn your head.”

Casey didn’t move at first. His eyes raked over McClure, pausing at the flap of his jacket where the gun was hidden and finally up to his face. Then he turned slowly towards the wall, and pressed his hands to the surface. “Make it quick, will ya’?” Casey reminded him. “I hear this place has half-way decent pie. I’d like to try some cherry.” 

Did he just say … what now? Chuck straightened and his mind went blank for a second, except for the last word Casey had leaned on a little too long. He had to fight down a coughing fit and a blush at the same time.

Between Bryce’s ‘don’t do it’, and getting captured, well, that was just Casey’s way of letting his boyfriend know he was still pissed. Just perfect. 

Even McClure picked up on the veiled remark. While he was patting down Casey’s shirt, traveling down his legs, he angled his head in Chuck’s direction and put on a lewd grin. “I hear they only have that in the bunkers. Right, kid? Not maximum security military prison. Might’ve had your last taste, John.” Satisfied he was clean, McClure stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll order you some. How’s that?”

Casey took the cue he could turn around, and he looked at McClure and nowhere else. The younger man would never recognize the steady look underneath the surface, cloaked in indifference, but Chuck did. The disquieting truth was that the scent of the hunt, of a fresh kill, always put that dark glint in his pupils. 

Outwardly, Casey shrugged. 

“Okay, asset.” McClure clamped down on Chuck’s arm, right above the elbow and dragged him close. “Let your boyfriend lead the way. Oh, and John? Make it the back booth. You know … somewhere we can talk in private.” 

Casey just flicked him a dismissive look and led them through the back entrance of the diner. As the three men filed in, McClure’s eyes roved over the other customers and mostly empty tables, and Chuck could see him tense for a minute until he deemed it safe. 

“Well, McClure?” Casey nodded at the out-of-the-way booth in the back corner where he had sauntered to halt. 

“Sit,” McClure told him. “Keep your hands flat on the tabletop.” 

Somehow, this didn’t fit Chuck’s mental picture of a suitable location for a Wild West shoot-out. For one, it was decidedly lacking in tumbleweeds. Mel’s diner was just a sliver of a restaurant, a long and narrow space with a row of booths lining one wall and a scattering of tables up front next to the windows. Midmorning sunlight streamed in through the panes, warming the compact diner for a few tired mall employees and some office workers getting a late start. The place was otherwise empty. 

“Cozy choice,” Chuck noted, attempting to drag his feet. “Are you sure this is the pie joint, sir?”

“God, I should’ve shot you in the SUV yesterday,” McClure said, twisting his grip into his flesh. 

Chuck’s eyes bulged wide but he held it in, not giving him the satisfaction of working a yelp out for Casey’s benefit. He grit his teeth against the burst of pain and yanked his arm back. “Really, McClure? You were never going to –”

“Bartowski.” The quiet threat lacing Casey’s voice did the trick. The tone that said sit down and shut the fuck up – I’ll deal with your ass later. 

Chuck exchanged a look between Casey and McClure, and huffed. “Fiiiine. I’ll just sit here and keep my mouth shut.”

He should’ve been offended that Casey and McClure snorted in unison at the possibility of that. 

“Just move your ass.” Not waiting for an argument, he shoved Chuck into the bench seat opposite of Casey and slid in next to the kid. 

“So, McClure.” Casey leaned back in the seat, at ease and for all the world appearing to be chatting casually with a buddy. “Mel’s Diner. Its ten-thirty, and you can see I came alone and I’m unarmed. Now what?”

Before McClure could reply, the waitress sidled up to the table and smiled at them. Not that Chuck noticed these things – McClure did – but her red shirt was unbuttoned well past the zone of propriety for wait staff, off-set by khakis and sensible shoes. She took the orders for pie and coffee with a puzzled look, making an offhand remark about an unhealthy breakfast. With a wink, she left them, and returned a minute later with white mugs of steaming coffee. 

Chuck just looked at his since he had no way to reach for it. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider cutting this?” he asked, looking down at his hands on his lap. “Coffee through a straw might draw attention, don’t you think?”

“Muzzle it, asset, or I will.” 

“Not to mention how it will look trying to eat pie.”

Casey and McClure rolled their eyes again.

“Sorry. It’s just that when I’m, you know, a little nervous, I –”

“Twitter like a girl?” McClure said, making Casey glare, since he most likely wanted to say it. 

Chuck swiveled his head from one man to the other. “Wow. This has got to go down in history as the weirdest situation ever, don’t you think? I mean –”

“Chuck.” Casey slanted a look over the table. The shut the hell up look had intensified. 

“Again, fine. I’ll stay out of it. Sheesh.”

McClure gave him an aggravated look to ensure he did, then took his time fixing his coffee the way he liked it. Two creams, three sugars. Slow stir. The entire time, studying the man across from him. “John. Now what, you wonder? Well, let me ask you this.” McClure paused to take a sip, swirling it on his tongue. “Did you … ever play sports? As a kid, I mean.”

Chuck stared for a few seconds. Did he really bring them here to reminisce? Did either of them find it bizarre to be sitting here talking with a man who wanted to kill Casey? 

Even Casey looked thrown off for a beat. “Yeah, I played some ball,” he replied, not touching the coffee. He kept his hands on the table and barely looked over at Chuck. “What does that have to do with us?”

“I did too,” McClure admitted, ignoring the question. He kept his cold gaze fixed on Casey. “One thing about games … when you’re young, you think it will be different. But you find out later, it’s the same. There’s always someone on the field who’s bigger. Stronger. Maybe someone who got some lucky breaks along the way that you didn’t get.”

“Cute story,” Casey grunted, returning the same contemptuous expression. “But I made my own breaks, McClure. Nothing was handed to me.” 

“And no matter what you do to take your position on the field … no matter how hard you work to make the first string … that guy is always there to stop you. Always in the way of letting you realize your full potential. Letting them see you for what you are.”

“Them?” Chuck asked before he could stop himself.

McClure didn’t turn to look at him. For several seconds, he stared at Casey, neither man twitching or giving in. “First it’s the coaches. Then later, it’s the bosses.”

“I don’t believe this,” Chuck said under his breath, having a hunch where he was going with this. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back so that it rested against the top of the bench seat, though it was doing nothing to keep his skull from throbbing. “You did this because someone took your ball away when you were in what, eighth grade?”

“No. Because of him.” McClure took a long swig off his coffee and gradually moved his hand down to his hip, a not-so-subtle reminder of the gun. “You were always the one in my way,” he said. “Beckman giving me the 49b was like a gift. Fucking Christmas come early. It was just an extra added surprise that it turned out to be true. That John Casey was compromised.”

His boyfriend was silent for a minute. But even with his head tipped back, eyes closed, Chuck felt it. The heat of his look, the intensity warming his skin. Maybe reliving every day that led to it. 

Compromised. 

Lifting his head, Chuck confirmed that he was right. Casey was peeling him back with those eyes, one of his baffling looks the kid would never figure out.

McClure half-turned to Chuck and gave him an uninterested once over, like a door prize no one wanted. “I sure as hell don’t get it, but this kid means something to you, doesn’t he?”

“Kid?” Chuck automatically tried to pull his hands apart until the plastic dug in. “You’re not much older than me, McClure.”

“Bartowski.” The pair of large hands on the table, rough knuckles that Chuck had smoothed over countless times, momentarily curled into fists. Chuck figured it was a safe assumption that the reaction wasn’t meant for him. Sure enough, Casey was wearing his solider face, pointed at McClure.

“Ah-ah, John,” McClure said in a silky tone, touching his hip to issue a warning. “Hands flat, or bad things happen. Things you don’t want. Right, asset?” He jabbed Chuck with his elbow to make his point.

“Cut the bullshit and tell me what you want.” Casey’s voice was deadly, but he did as he was told, laying his hands flat on either side of the saucer.

“Always to the point. Good, John. It’s simple. You see, I was trying to decide if bringing in your lifeless corpse would be the most strategic move. Show the bosses up the food chain the mistakes they’ve made.” As if contemplating that, McClure paused to take another drink. “But I realized that bringing in a breathing and kicking John Casey would only further my cause. No one would believe it could even be done. That you could be captured alive.” 

“Then why didn’t you just try to do it? Without him.” Casey nodded at Chuck.

McClure made a phfft noise. “Your reputation for killing anyone who has attempted is legend,” he answered with a harsh laugh. “Is it really true? You’ve done nine before, right?” 

“Nine?” Chuck faltered as he regained his voice. “Really?”

Bored by the nerd chatter, McClure pretended not to hear him. “I wanted a guarantee. And this one was too easy. That’s my guarantee.” He angled his head to the kid. “Him.”

“You know what this reminds me of?” Chuck said.

“Bartowski, this had better not be one of your –”

“Have you even seen the ending of an action thriller movie, right when the evil doer spills his diabolical plan to the hero, and then –”

“What the hell is he talking about?” McClure growled at Casey.

“Said evil doer describes the demise of the hero … his plot to become the scourge of the human race. Or heist a bank – whatever, depending upon the circumstances.” Chuck looked from Casey to McClure and sped up the tangent. “But right after the speech – and his or her fiendish laugh – well, that’s about the time he’s pushed from a sixty story building by the hero. Becomes sort of a villainous pancake on the pavement. Oh, and not the tasty kind, either.”

McClure lowered his mug to stare at him, and Chuck could hear his teeth grinding. “You wanna remind your boyfriend this is real life?” the agent said to Casey.

When Chuck opened his mouth to elaborate, Casey gave him the look. 

“Oh.” Chuck held back a nervous laugh and cleared his throat. “Just thought I’d … okaaaay, never mind.”

Casey turned his attention to McClure. “The kid? How does he fit in?”

“Your boy?” McClure brushed a hand in the air towards Chuck. “For the life of me, I can’t see why the government thinks he’s vitally important. Or why you seem to think the same, John?” The next thought brought a laugh out of him. “Maybe looks are deceiving and he’s a wildcat in the sack, huh? Bet he makes you feel good?" 

“You gutless dickhead –”

“Nuh-uh,” McClure chided. “I said keep your hands on the table, agent. I’m not done yet.” His lip curled up when Casey’s arms loosened and he slowly complied. “That’s a good agent. I’m not interested in the geek or why Beckman wants him. It’s you, not him,” McClure said. “You’ll come with me. Without a fight or any of your games – and I’m well aware of your reputation, John.” 

Chuck vaguely wondered if McClure knew it was also his reputation to kill people who piss him off. 

Purposefully, Casey kept his fingers spread on the table, and Chuck could see the internal gears churning. Not good. Yes, McClure was a giant douche and deserved to be socked hard in the gut … but it did not stop the sweat from sliding down his ribcage under his shirt. Chuck took a deep breath and waited.

“And the nerd?” Casey asked, jaw set. “What happens to him?”

“This is how it’ll play.” McClure wrapped his fingers around Chuck’s arm and gave him a little shake. “The geek gets a twelve hour head start before I inform the General her asset is missing.” 

“Do you mind removing your meat hook?” Chuck wrenched his arm free. "I really don't need physcial assistance while seated, but thanks."

McClure tuned him out. “He’s smart, huh, agent? Is that what they say? He might get away … maybe elude the team she sends after him. Who knows? If he can disappear, he doesn’t get to rot his life away in a bunker.” Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a pair of cuffs and placed them on the table in front of Casey. “Him … for you. See? I told you. Simple.”

Chuck automatically looked down at the cuffs, going bug-eyed. “No way, McClure,” he butted in. Was he nuts? McClure wanted to see Casey suffer, knowing Chuck might be on the run or in a bunker? “I won’t let him do that –”

“Won’t let me?” Casey rumbled.

“Uh, that came out wrong, but –”

“Can it, Bartowski.”

Chuck gave a useless pull on his wrists under the table, fuming at Casey’s tone. It occurred to him that he could probably try and run away, eliminating McClure’s bargaining chip. Except for McClure blocking the way … and having his hands tied. 

Oh, yeah. And the extremely large and scary gun at his waist.

Panic crawled through him at the prospect of what Casey was about to agree to. Chuck wanted to yell out, kick McClure, grab Casey and drag him out of there. Yeah, as if. He had never felt so damn helpless. His throat was closing up, and he twisted in his seat to stare at both of them.

“So, what’s your answer?” McClure asked, settling back and relaxing. “Why don’t you put those on and come with me?”

Casey kept his eyes fastened on McClure’s face, the angry mask not wavering. At length, he stretched his fingers, reaching for the cuffs.

“Sorry the pie took so long, fellas.” The waitress’s smooth Southern drawl was like honey in the middle of a beehive. “The bake truck was late unloading, but here ya’ go.”

Three plates of fruit pie whisked out in front of them, napkins folded at each place. Casey’s hand stopped, and went to the napkin instead. 

McClure snorted. “Yeah, eat up, John.”

Before McClure could pick up his fork, Casey flipped over the napkin. Something that looked a lot like a gun was under the fold. Chuck blinked, and that was all the time Casey needed to line up the shot. 

“… the hell?” McClure’s eye sprang wide. His brain had barely registered what Casey was holding. “Where did you –” 

In reply, Casey rolled his eyes. “Moron,” he muttered. Tensing, his finger moved on the trigger. 

“Oh, crap!” Chuck wheezed. Knowing that Casey could make a kill shot from eight hundred yards, he figured it was a safe bet he couldn’t miss from two feet across the table. 

Abruptly, three things happened at once.

Sucking in a lungful of air and squeezing his eyes closed, Chuck prayed the blood spatter would stay on his side.

McClure scrambled for his gun at his waistband, managing to get it halfway level.

And Casey fired.

Two shots, like puffs of air, broke through the silence. 

Air? Wait a minute. There was no blast? Curiosity and fear forced Chuck’s eyes open. He turned in the seat and glanced over, saw Casey looking at ease tucking the gun away.

Chuck gaped. “Is that … is that a tranq gun, Casey?”

“Wha – Oh, shit.” Absolute horror had welled up on McClure’s face as he followed the short trajectory of the darts. One had pierced the flesh of his neck. Another stuck into his chest. Eyes heavy, he moved like a man trapped under water, clawing feebly at the dart stuck in his neck. “You … you bastard,” McClure whispered. 

“Bastard?” Casey chuckled. “Heh. It’s Major Bastard to you, Lieutenant. I’m not going to let you forget that.”

McClure groaned and his eyes fell back in their sockets. He then flopped face first into the piece of cherry pie. Cherries in pink goo flew everywhere. 

“Casey?” Chuck gasped, his brain skidding like a tire on a patch of oil. “How did you – where did you –?” His eyes traveled from the gun, to Casey’s bland stare, and that was when he noticed the waitress was still standing at the table. 

“Hey, Chuck.”

“S-Sarah? What are you doing here?”

“Later, okay?” She reached over and touched his hair gently. “Are you all right?”

Chuck just blinked up at her. “A … waitress?! Because, how –?” 

“Almost didn’t recognize you without the whore boots,” Casey interrupted, flicking her ‘Hi, I’m Darlene’ badge with his finger. “You screwed the pooch on that one, Walker. Or should I say Darlene. It’s a damn good thing you got recruited by the agency instead of waiting tables.” He looked at her, then Chuck. “I ordered the cherry, CIA.”

Sarah folded her arms over her chest and quirked a toothy smile at him. “You’ll have to complain to your waitress, who is currently locked in the bathroom, so we –”

“You locked her in the bathroom?!” Chuck gave her a scandalized look, eyes flaring. “What is wrong with you people?!”

“Speaking of which, this might be a good time to settle and get the hell out of here,” Casey said. He nodded at McClure. “Grab an arm, Walker.

“Wait a minute!” Chuck bolted upright, his stupor beginning to fade. “What are you going to do … to him? I mean … out of all the people you’ve, well, you know –”

“Killed?” Casey filled in blandly.

“Y-yeah. That. And you didn’t … uh, –”

“Kill?”

“Him?” It was distressing that his voice had climbed an octave by the time he got all that out.

Casey didn’t answer at first. After heaving a breath, he scrubbed the back of his neck, the first sign that the past week had left a mark on him. Nowhere near the number of wounds Chuck felt, but still. 

It was there. 

Chuck wished he could reach out and run his fingers down his forearm. Just one touch. But being restrained by the zip tie, he could only watch him with dark eyes, completely dazed. “Casey, what … is going on?”

Giving away nothing else, Casey inclined his head, avoiding close eye contact for now. “I told you, kid, back before the wedding. I’ve dealt with these pricks my entire career. Yapping at my heels. Trying to knock me down. The funny thing is, they always have one thing in common.”

“Bad hair and gorilla-sized torsos?”

“No, Intersect.” Getting his cup, he took a drink of the coffee. “They always need to be taught a lesson.”

“A l-lesson?” 

For the first time since forever, Chuck guessed, that sly grin he loved slid onto his boyfriend’s face. Casey reached out and tapped the top of McClure’s head, careful to avoid the coating of gooey cherries. 

“And starting now?” Casey said plainly. “Well, class is in session.”

-x-End Chapter Nine Way Back-x


	16. Chapter Ten

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Ten) 

-x-

“Sarah.”

Six seconds ticked by as he counted, waiting. Chuck picked up his trot behind her when it became clear she was not turning around. 

“Sarah Walker, Mistress of the Ginsu.”

More ticks – probably ten or so – and only the clack of her heels sounded back at him.

“All right. I hate to be the anchor here in this little ménage a trois hike – if the Large Mart parking garage counts as a hike – but is anyone going to explain to me what’s going on? And can he slow down?” Chuck asked, nodding ahead at Casey’s back.

Either not hearing or not caring, Casey didn’t break his stride. How he could walk that fast with a man who had to weigh well over two bills thrown over his shoulder was just a freaking mystery to the kid.

He tried to speed up. It didn’t really work. Chuck’s head was still burning and aching and frankly, synapses were spinning wildly. Two minutes ago, he was seated at a booth with one of the biggest pricks in the NSA – well, maybe two of them. Then there were shots from a tranq gun, and Sarah Walker was in Burbank of all places. 

After McClure had gone face first into his cherry pie – Chuck had to smile at the thought – his spy protectors had each grabbed an arm and half-carried McClure out the rear exit of the diner. During the dragging and grunting stage of the op, his boyfriend had barely looked at him, just ordering him to ‘move his ass before he got into more trouble’. 

The gravelly tone told him he had already crossed the ‘trouble’ state line and was well into the ‘deep-shit-up-to-his-neck territory’. Not exactly a heart-to-heart tender reunion, but what had he expected, really?

Outside, Casey had McClure hoisted over his back, and he led the way through the lower level of the parking deck with Sarah, and then Chuck, trailing behind. Oh, just great, this location was familiar. That’s what he needed right now: a reminder of the place Sensei had tried to kidnap him by tossing him into the trunk of his car. The problem was Casey never found his calm center that day, either.

“Sarah, please wait,” Chuck said through pants and gasps. “You may have noticed, or maybe you remember this little detail, but I’m not an endurance runner.”

Sarah finally slowed to a walk, and turning, she put out a hand to stop him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Um, bunker boy? Injections and kidnapping? Ring any bells? Otherwise, I’m sure I could keep up with – okay, stop laughing.” Chuck sucked in more air, waving her off. “I get it. First thing on the docket when I’m back, workouts with Casey need to get added to the daily routine.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have some making up to do before then.”

“Hilarious, yes. Glad you’re still getting mileage from our little talk.” Chuck stared anxiously ahead, confirming that Casey was out of earshot, and stopped to rest. “So, he’s really … mad, huh?” He sighed and looked over at her. “Never mind, I know the answer to that. How did you get here? Did he call you?”

“No, it wasn’t him. But your boyfriend was about a millimeter away from pulling the trigger when I did get the call.” 

“What ….” Chuck said weakly. “Who … do you mean McClure?” Clearly, the knot on his head was affecting his thought process. That made no sense.

“Um, someone else he was getting ready to kill. A friend of mine.” Sarah eyed him and tugged on his hand, making Chuck wonder why no one had bothered to cut the zip tie yet. “We can walk and talk, okay? Let’s go, or he’ll –”

“Get more pissed off.” Chuck rolled his eyes started to lope along next to her. “Yeah, I got the memo on that. So, your friend … Casey didn’t ...?”

“Kill him? No. I vouched for him.”

“Thank God,” he breathed. 

In his twenty years with the agency, Chuck was certain that Casey had killed, maimed, tortured or lied to his fair share of human scum with lives hanging in the balance. Chuck should’ve gotten used to the insanity by now. The danger, the guns. But knowing this made him almost question his relationship with an assassin, and how he had managed to somehow fall in love with him. 

More of a determined stumbling rather than a fall, but still. 

Wait. Love. Did he just think that? 

Sarah was talking again. “But I can’t say the same for the pilot.” Standing so close, Chuck could nearly feel her tense. “Someone had tipped him off.”

“So, Casey …. He killed the pilot?” 

“Well, he had been bought by someone – he was a traitor – and was going for a weapon.” Sarah studied him thoughtfully. “Sorry, Chuck, I know you don’t like to hear about the some of the details about our line of work. I know what it does to you.” 

“Yeah, well, you have no idea what bullets and a good kickback does to him,” he grumbled, straggling to a stop. 

“Hmm?”

“Oh, crap.” Chuck went wide-eyed at the panicked realization he had said that aloud, and right then, he would’ve slapped his hands over his mouth if they weren’t pinned together in front of him. “Please, please, please,” he said, turning beet red. “Can you just pretend you didn’t –?" 

“Realllly … Chuck?” Sarah eyed him speculatively, grinning. “For most men, its internet porn and a few Budweisers,” she noted, glancing in Casey’s direction. “Huh. It all makes sense, though.”

“You can’t say … Sarah, let me remind you that I’m already going to be sleeping on the couch – or in the trunk of the Vic – for, oh, I don’t know, maybe the next two years or so?”

“A little dramatic, even for you Chuck. C’mon.” Sarah laughed and took his sleeve, signaling for him to pick up the pace. “This way.”

The blonde led them around one of the stairwell enclosures, and cut across the main bay until they came out behind the parking structure. Still early in the day, the lot was empty except for a conspicuous-looking late model black van. 

“Ours?” Chuck wondered, though the answer was obvious. 

“Sort of.” Sarah looked guilty only for a minute. “We had to … requisition it.” 

“I see that.” The kid automatically slowed down, looking past her to the surveillance vehicle. “I’m just asking myself what Beckman is going to miss the most – her van or her agent,” he said. “I still don’t understand this.” 

“Your head must still be ringing, then, because there’s not much to understand.” Her hand came up to tuck a few locks of hair behind his ear, and she blanched at the bruise it exposed on his temple. “Well, I was able to dissuade your boyfriend from killing the co-pilot. Casey told me what happened. So, I left Bryce at our transport point and caught a plane.” 

“You get bonus points for not bringing him this time, by the way.”

“And let Casey try again? No thanks. Besides, one of these times, Bryce will run out of luck.”

“True. I’m pretty sure he’s used up most of his cat lives by now. He’s moving into cockroach territory, don’t you think?”

Chuck thought she might laugh at his joke, but when he looked over, there was a twinge of hurt behind her eyes. She bumped his elbow good-naturedly to get him shut up. “Anyway, by the time I arrived, Casey had already been contacted by him with the arrangements. Why on earth McClure gave him the location of the meet-up hours before hand ….” She let out mild snort. “I guess he thought Casey would be going into this alone – that maybe he hasn’t changed. So, piece of cake.”

“I was thinking pie, actually – ow!” Chuck had to use his long stride to dodge another playful punch. “Hey, still tied up here, remember?”

“God, you are such a nerd.” Quirking her lips, she tilted her head towards the van. “Move it, buster. You’re not completely out of the woods yet.” 

“What are the chances that he’s using up all of his available ire on McClure?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “But seriously, how bad can it be?”

“Horrible comes to mind, among other adjectives.” He flashed a nervous grin. “I don’t know, actually. This will be our first gigantically ugly –”

“Lover’s tiff?”

“I was thinking more in line with a brawl, but tiff? All righty. I think I like the sound of that much more than anything that implies physical contact … scuffling, boxing –” 

“Chuck.” Sarah turned and put her hands on her hips.

“What?”

“One, you’re rambling; two, you’re shuffling,” she observed. “You have to talk to him at some point.”

“I suppose you won’t believe I was still winded from the trot over here?”

Sarah said nothing, unless a skeptical Casey-like noise counted as a reply. 

The kid rolled his eyes – and immediately had to regret it when pain ebbed into his temple. “Yeah, fine. But face it, Sarah. Talking to a caged rattlesnake would be easier.” 

“Less venomous, too.”

“Are you enjoying this?” 

“You’re stalling again. Let’s go. Oh, and Chuck?” 

“Did you want to point out that a crocodile is cuddlier, too? Anything else to make me want to soil myself while you’re at it?”

“Uh, no. I was just going to say no lip locks in the van this time. I don’t think your boyfriend’s in the mood for it.” Sarah half-turned and winked, leaving him in the wake of a muffled snicker while she caught up to Casey. 

“Lip locks?” Chuck sputtered, somehow gaining enough composure to glare at her back. Spy humor. He should’ve just given her the damn pants and walked naked to the bathroom back at the motel. But seeing that his dirty look was wasted on the hind section of a pair of tight jeans, he tucked it away for later and kept on her heels. 

The angle of the sun over the parking deck made it a little difficult to see, but as he rounded the corner of the van behind Sarah, Casey came into view. His boyfriend had opened the side door wide, and Chuck looked over just in time to watch him drop McClure into the back of the vehicle. The beefy younger agent landed with a thump, his cherry covered head jostling side-to-side. Thankfully, he appeared to be out for the count. 

And perhaps it was an optical illusion, but Casey seemed to stop to dust his hands together after dumping the big lug. 

Chuck wanted to smile at him – except Casey was sticking to the ‘ignoring his recklessly stupid boyfriend’ routine. Yeah, just perfect. “You’ve made your point,” he muttered to himself. “Bang-up job, too.”

Well. While he shifted against his handcuffs, it occurred to him that he should possibly find a way to lose the zip ties before diving headlong into a tiff. 

“Sarah?” Chuck glanced helplessly at his hands when she turned her gaze to him. “A little help here, you think? Is it safe to assume you have a knife – or a dozen or so – on you?”

Sarah leaned forward slightly and reached around to her lower back, fingers lifting her shirt –

A small guttural noise made them turn. 

McClure was on his back, head askew at a weird angle, and Casey was in the process of removing an arsenal of weapons from his clothing. Not looking up from his task at hand, his boyfriend cleared his throat one more time, adding an almost imperceptible head shake for Sarah’s benefit. Nuh-uh.

“You know, that’s … odd,” Sarah said, her eyebrows rising while she looked between Casey and then Chuck. She began patting down her pockets and cocked her head to the side, feigning confusion. “I must’ve left them back at the … huh. Sorry, Chuck, I’m all out.”

“What?” Chuck’s baffled look slowly fell to a scowl. “Et tu, Brute? I mean, seriously, Sarah? I’ve never known you to leave the house without your pointy pals attached to your–”

“Give us a minute, Walker?” 

“– guh.” 

Jolting, Chuck spun on his boyfriend, eyes flared wide. How the hell did he sneak up on them like that? He was in the van not two seconds ago! Either way, Casey was now standing next to them, looking badass with his broad shoulders thrown back and his jaw set like stone. 

Oh. Right. He’s peeved. What was he supposed to say? 

Stretching to his full height and using his God-given brown eyes, Chuck plastered on a winning smile – and discreetly shrunk back a step or two. “Hey … sweetie ….”

Casey grunted in response, not bothering to give him a look. His eyes cut to Sarah, and he jerked his thumb towards the van. “Watch him for me. Tranq him again if he moves.” 

“I should stay, too,” Chuck blurted, starting to edge away –

– just as a strong hand reached out, clamping onto him. “Not happening,” Casey replied.

“What are you – ah.” How Casey managed to hook a finger around the zip tie without even a glimpse in his direction was just one more item that Chuck would need to add to the list of Incredibly Scary Things About His Assassin Boyfriend. “Again, ow. Do I have to remind you –”

“We won’t be gone long,” he told Sarah.

Because it would take Casey about ninety seconds to dissect him and leave his carcass tacked to the side of a dumpster as a warning to impulsive boyfriends everywhere? A disturbing image that would make headlines on the six o’clock news?

But Get Real. Casey would never kill him. Or maim, for that matter. Yep, maiming was out of the question. 

Maybe Sarah would hear his girlish screams of terror and reconsider her slide into becoming a traitor.

“Casey, uh, perhaps you should –”

“Move it, Bartowski.” The hard tug was to ensure he complied.

A little ruffled by the manhandling, Chuck let himself get towed along for a few feet before a tiny spark of fury flared. Damn him for disregarding his reasoning and treating him like government property. Or in this case, his property. 

He can’t do this. 

Rooting his heels in, the kid struggled to get his hand free. That did a lot of good, since it only encouraged Casey to dig in harder and pick up the pace. Chuck went back to glowering at him. “We had the talk on this and everything, didn’t we? Giving me choices when you’ve got a stick up your –?” 

“Walk or drag, then.”

“Wow – seriously? You know, you can be a real –” 

“What?”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best tactic at this juncture, what with the dragging and all. Chuck gave him an aggravated look and jogged along, fighting his shredded nerves. “Let’s try this. Can you, oh, I don’t know, maybe tone down the caveman act – just a weensy bit? I mean – ow – it’s not exactly comfortable like this and I don’t appreciate being hauled around –”

“Walk,” Casey growled. He did, however, let his fingers slip out of the tie, moving his hand up to Chuck’s elbow. The dragging, however, was showing no signs of letting up. 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave McClure?” Chuck asked, since nothing else seemed to be working. 

“I left him with a woman who could julienne his liver with a dull blade and her teeth – and she would still go out for breakfast when she finished the job. Do you really think I’m worried?”

Well, Chuck had no argument for that.

Walking silently – since Chuck’s shoes made enough noise for two men – Casey led them around the outer edge of the Large Mart deck, past the service door that led to the stairs, and along the outer brick wall of the parking ramp. 

Chuck scanned the area and tensed. Empty. It was slightly disconcerting that there would be no witnesses.

“Casey?” 

Instead of an answer, Casey drew to a halt – and just as quickly, Chuck felt his back pressed into the wall behind him. 

Oh, hell – this was not the time to think about something like this, but Casey seemed to like to hold him against walls … doors, or any flat surface, really. 

Right. Now was not one of those times.

The brush of something against his hip was his only warning before Casey crowded in close, taking every ounce of breathing room in his personal bubble. One large hand slid over his shirt at his waist, the other clamped down on his shoulder. No question about it, Casey knew how to use his weight difference to his advantage, and he was making it nearly impossible for Chuck to shrug out of his grasp. 

Chuck sucked in a breath at the push. He tried to bring his hands up to dig his fingertips into Casey’s bicep, his back, anything, but he couldn’t. Casey was heavy and the wall was digging into his shoulders and this was not good.

To hell with this. The kid straightened. “Okay. I understand your point. You’re making it very well, I might add. But I think I’ve been pushed around enough in the past twenty-four hours, and the last week for that matter, so can you kindly back your ass up?” 

Casey shifted on his feet and the unshakable restraint on his waist tightened, daring him to lock horns. 

“What are you –” Frustrated pride swelled up and Chuck struggled one more time; his cheeks flushing, lean arms taut – but hell, he was a strong son of a bitch. Even if he were healthy, without his temple throbbing or sweat crawling between his shoulder blades, he’d never be able to push him back. 

So, Chuck kicked his ankle, scowling. Asshole. Bastard. 

Casey just stared at him and waited for the fight to work itself out. “You done yet?” he asked coolly after a minute. There was a touch, lazily grazing his fingers at the curve of his neck, a stark contrast to the strong hand over his waist. “Not gonna talk until I know I have your attention.”

Despite the demand and the hold he had, it was a long moment before Chuck could look at him. Or stifle his exertion from a physical encounter with someone who had fifty pounds of hard muscle on him. He strangled down the urge to yell or curse at him, watching his lover’s face, his stiff jaw, the slope of his cheeks, deep perfect handsomeness no matter what was going on under the surface. 

And it was there, all right. Like everything with Casey, it was bubbling well below see level. 

Chuck slouched against the wall, feeling like a thin piece of meat squashed between two slices of bread. “Okay … Yes, I am done. Happy?”

Casey drew back an inch or two, eyes fastened on Chuck’s face. The sky was so blue it almost hurt, but it had nothing on Casey’s eyes. 

“Is that your ‘I’ll shut my trap and listen’ face, or did you want to try and kick me again?” 

Chuck narrowed his eyes, fuming. “I’m going to ignore that for now only because I know you’re speaking from an angry place. I know you want to yell at me and call me a dozen new colorful names that you’re going to make up on the fly. You’ll threaten and snarl and maybe even throw in a few obscenities to keep it interesting.” He peered into his steely face. “So why don’t you go ahead and just do it, so that we can get this part over with?”

“I’m not going to do that.” Casey leaned in, lips to his ear, filling it with that low rumble of his. “Not this time. I’m only saying one thing.”

His tone, the glint of azure. This was different. Worrisome. Suddenly, a spike in the back of Chuck’s throat was making it hard to swallow. He searched his face, then looked away. “What is it?”

“Nuh-uh. No you don’t. Look at me.” Without waiting, Casey clenched his fingers into the kid’s jaw, steering his face around and tilting it up until Chuck had no choice but to meet his hard gaze, forcing him to look into pupils of shattered glass he could recognize in the dark.

Whatever this one thing was, yelling would be an improvement. Chuck reached out clumsily with his pinned hands and closed his fingers over Casey’s rigid upper arm. “Back off, Major,” he managed between his teeth. With the impossible grip on his jaw, his voice reminded him of air seeping from a balloon.

“Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.” 

“This isn’t –” Right. Fair. You’re hurting me. None of it mattered. Chuck tried to pull his head back, but Casey’s fingertips dug in. Chuck recoiled at first, and then stilled. “Fiiine. You have my attention – obviously, so why don’t you go ahead and say it. What?”

“This.” Casey turned away, drew in a breath. “If you put yourself in danger for me one more time – ever,” he said low, “I’m leaving.”

Chuck’s dark eyes coursed over him, expecting a bend in his demeanor. It didn’t come.

Gravity was three times heavier. It wasn’t helping that Chuck forgot to breathe. “You would … are you saying you would leave?” He wasn’t serious. Casey wouldn’t abandon him like that. Not after this.

“I won’t sit by and watch you get your idiot self killed.” Casey’s thumb brushed his collarbone, sending a tiny shudder through him. “I can’t.”

“Wait. I’m still not … you would go somewhere else?” Chuck’s voice cracked with disbelief and the lump in his throat became jagged. “Away from here. From me?”

“Not my first choice. But you’d be alive. If it meant you were safe, then yes, I would live with that. Knowing you weren’t in danger would be easier.”

“Easier?” Chuck had to swallow when the words came out sounding like a yelp. “For who?” 

“I knew this would happen.” One more touch, and Casey let his hand fall from Chuck’s face. “This is why agents don’t get tangled up.”

“Tangled up? Is that what this is?” Mystified, Chuck attempted to wave his hands between them. He ended up pushing himself back into the wall just to get some space. “That’s not the truth, and you know it. It’s that you can’t face what has happened to you.” Holy crap, did he just call the Major a coward? The kid was feeling a lot less together than he was before Casey had dropped the ‘I’ll Leave Bomb’, but he lifted his chin and plowed on. “McClure is a complete ass, but you know what? He’s right about you being compromised. You don’t want to hear it or have it pushed in your face. But there it is, Casey, and you have to deal with it. It’s not the same as it was before – between us … before things happened.” 

He didn’t know his own strength. He had no idea that his fingers had tightened on the plastic band, twisting it on his wrists, until Chuck winced and sucked in a hard breath. “Jesus … ow,” he mumbled. “Easy, Casey ….”

“Fuck. Eh.” Casey pressed his lips together, and he brought a palm up to sweep his fingers along the angle of his jaw, his thumb caressing his bottom lip. 

Chuck flipped through the ‘Casey to Cursory Noises’ dictionary in his head. But it was the touch. This particular entry said Casey was seriously pissed, but okay, he was sorry for that. 

Doesn’t make this better. 

“Stop.” Chuck jerked his head away. “I said back off.” 

Something flickered across his face. Then, becoming resolute, Casey took another step away and crossed his arms. “Not going to live with that … if it happened,” he said. “I’ve been asked to live with a lot. Stuff you’ll never know. But not that kind, kid. Never that.”

“But I can? That makes it okay? Are you nuts?” The NSA psychological profiles had been fed into the Intersect, so he already knew the answer – ‘Latent Aggression: Fit for Combat’ – but it felt damn good to poke him. “So, you transfer your burden, your guilt, to me? Because that’s the way it would work, Casey. If something happens to you, Agent Casey gets to die thinking he saved me – but you didn’t save me from anything.”

“Don’t you spin this around in that nerd brain of yours. Or argue with me.” Casey glared, because in his world, this made sense.

“But you have to see, it’s the same thing,” Chuck contended.

“Your emotions got in the way.” He grabbed hold of his wrists, lightly this time, fingers stroking the bare skin. “You put yourself in danger.” 

“And you didn’t?” Chuck tried to shake him off again. “Coming to Sterling? Breaking into the facility?

“Not talking about it,” Casey insisted. And because the most frustrating man to walk the earth couldn’t put it in words, he cocked his head and pressed in yet again, thighs on either side of his upper legs, holding him there with a solid line of weight. “End of conversation.”

“Nice crutch, Major.” Being pinned like this and incapable of pushing him – though he desperately wanted to – Chuck tipped his head back to avoid his eyes, scowling at the sky. “The Not Talking card. What a surprise.” 

“You’re the Intersect.”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

Casey’s hands slid up his forearms to his biceps. “That’s still not an answer, kid. I’m not letting you squirm away until I know you heard me.”

“I have to agree not to … help you?” Chuck shook his head, dazed. “No.”

Casey grunted, this one in a way that managed to convey that he was not getting loose any time soon. “That’s not what I said. I don’t give a damn what you agree to or not,” and his voice had gone impossibly deep. “I know better. You nod your head, say what I want to hear, and then you run into the middle of a FARC shoot-out or try to diffuse a car bomb because you think you have an app for that.”

“Funny, Casey.” Chuck tried to wrap his fingers around his boyfriend’s forearm – but this was impossible. All of it was. “What are you saying?”

“I need to know that you understood what I said. I don’t need to hear your stuttering or excuses. It’s not negotiable. It’s easy. Right now, you get to tell me that what I said penetrated that stubborn head of yours –” 

“Me?”

“– And I know that the next time you dive into a den of cut throats, well, you made your decision.” Casey lifted a shoulder. “Simple, eh?”

Chuck had a split second to question why the air was being squeezed from his lungs. Anger. Hurt. 

It was this. Casey leaving was not part of his five-year plan. A small white house with blue shutters. Maybe a hungry striped cat that shows up on the porch one morning to adopt them …. Those parts were blurry around the edges – but the image with Casey? That was clear. 

He wet his lips, staring at the bluest eyes – and the most frighteningly iron-plated head. Words with meaning and thought and everything could not puncture that fortress. 

“You think this is simple?” he asked, hating his voice for breaking at the end.

Casey looked at him for a few seconds, utterly implacable. “You heard me.” His long fingers were at the hem of his shirt, his hands flat on his belly. Rubbing in small circles, he trailed them to his hips. “Say you understand.”

“If I do that again, you would … leave me?”

The air quivered, the answer sliced. “Yes.”

“But we’re … partners.” He couldn’t stand this anymore. Chuck didn’t feel the gentle hands. Only brute strength holding him up, the wall cutting into his skin. It hurt, but not like that.

“That is not an answer, Chuck,” Casey told him. “Not letting you walk away until I know you heard me.”

“God, I hate this.” He was looking down at Casey’s hands on his hips, fingertips skimming over his low belly. He could not look away. He was trembling, but that was the fever. Had to be. “This sounds distinctly like an ultimatum,” Chuck managed. 

In reply, Casey shrugged – don’t care what you think.

There was a burn behind his eyes. Chuck lowered his lashes, looking to the side because there was no way he would let Casey see that. “I already lost people that I lo – people that I care about,” the kid said, resentment twisting in his gut. “I’m not loosing you, too.”

Casey’s hands smoothed over his middle, wide palms, strong fingers that drifted over his tight muscles. “Say it.”

“Okay, yes, I heard you,” Chuck breathed, cringing in his chest. “And yes, I understand. Can you back off now?”

“Not yet.” 

Chuck tensed. His gaze snapped to Casey’s face, because dammit, he was going to protest this. Whatever it was. “Now what?

“This.” 

“Casey, I’m not going to – oh.” Chuck could feel Casey’s body relaxing against his torso. The way his boyfriend’s thigh pushed down and in, sliding over the front of his jeans, was something familiar, and he needed familiar after this – after agreeing to a demand that would kill his sleep for a month. “Um … what are you … hi there?” 

And Chuck decided then and there that he was freaking insane if he thought he could … just, no.

“God, you look like shit,” Casey said out of the blue, as if he needed that reminder. 

The sentiment would hurt from anyone but him. His hands spoke … other words. Bringing his palm up, Casey touched his stubbly cheek, threaded his fingers through dark curls at his temple, and pushed the locks back to get a good look. Chuck tautened again, watching him intently. He felt Casey lean in, lips close, sweeping the pad of his thumb lightly over the purple bruise, his expression unwavering, unsmiling. 

Still, no. “Wow. Thanks for the comparison.” Chuck would’ve given him a light push, but what with his lack of hands, he could only bring his bound wrists up to his collar and clutch the front of his shirt. “I should let you know, if you’re moving in close for a reason, that’s not going to –”

Casey bent again before Chuck could argue, brushing his lips over his, then taking the kiss. As Chuck stayed still, not fighting, feeling the kiss nudge his lips to part, the palm at the hem of his shirt went under and up, rough knuckles gliding along his ribcage. A possessive hand slid into the small of his back and brought him in close, tight. Bare skin to skin, as warm as the sun on his cheek. 

Chuck could feel his obstinance abating, his stomach fluttering. There was no resistance left. 

He closed his eyes. 

Nothing about this was tentative or soft. Casey pressed in firmly, opening his mouth and expecting Chuck would follow the movement. Of course, he couldn’t control it. He parted his lips and kissed him back, tasting his spiciness and the salty warmth of his breath. So good to finally kiss him … quashing his hurt for now. 

Maybe Casey felt it too. On instinct, he growled into his mouth, caught his lip with his teeth, lightly sucking on it until the kid made a broken sound in his throat. It did not sound like begging. No. But there was a deep chuckle, and with his mouth open to him, Casey slid his tongue inside and took with hot, aggressive pushes of his lips. 

This was way more than a little intimidating the first time he felt it, but now, he’d gotten used to it. The soft slide, teeth gently nipping.

Besides, Chuck was too busy grasping and tugging the front of his shirt to keep him there.

It struck him as weirdly gentle, the way Casey could overtake him, but barely touch him. Hot mouth to his, fiery palms grazing his middle, demanding access to his will through a kiss.

And much later, Chuck would need to have a long talk with himself, because getting manhandled against the parking deck should not make him hard and aching. He should not like this. Not at all.

While Chuck’s fingers clenched into his shirt, Casey took the opportunity to tilt his head down and find that spot he knows will make the kid’s knees give out a little. The corded tendon that would induce him to tip his head, giving Casey easy access to the soft curve of delicate skin. And like that, a hungry idiot and a fool, he did it. 

Pleased at the surrender, Casey smiled against his skin and his tongue trailed down his neck. “… that’s it….” he murmured ,and when he found the swell, he bit down, just enough to leave a red imprint, his mark. One that needed licking, then soothing with the touch of warm lips over the hollow of his collarbone. 

Oh, shit. As he did it, the kid felt a ragged groan in his the back of his throat. Couldn’t stop it. He’s given everything, and now Chuck gave him helpless permission.

“… Yeah, you still like it … remember that?” Casey rumbled against his ear.

Damn him. Casey should not be able to make him poker hard just by talking in his ear with that gravel in his voice. A delicious ache that could kill him someday. It wasn’t fair. He was just bone weary and flat-out drained and shouldn’t be thinking like this. 

“… Casey ….” Chuck shivered at the feel of a rough nip. “… this is not… you shouldn’t …”

“Want this off?” Casey’s mouth was against his neck, and he swept a finger along his inner wrist, back and forth over the raised skin under the zip tie. “Or you want me to leave it on for now?” The lips moved to his ear and formed a naughty smile. 

“Ca-sey….” He’s not going to lie; he has thought about it. A lot. His boyfriend most definitely has an unspoken kink, but now …? For once, the head above needs to put one in the win column. “Uh … No matter how much you – oh, God, do that – no wait, stop.” His tongue had traced the outer edge of his ear, and just like that, the pure porn pay-per-view channel was playing in his head. Wonderful . 

“Stop?” Casey repeated low, and not stopping, he licked a small circle under his ear.

“Oh.” Shoving himself backwards, the kid woke up enough to grab onto a handful of brawn. “J-John?”

“Yeah?” Casey didn’t bother looking up. He was busy; his mouth was moving to tease the back of his neck. “You … want something…?” 

“I know it’s been … well, a long time ... ah – and for a reason I can’t fathom, I can see you’re a –” horny as hell! “H-happy to see me, but … no.”

Casey lifted his head gradually, his eyes settled on Chuck’s red face. Then, he folded his arms in front of him, tightening all those damn muscles – and he smirked. “Yep, I was right.”

“Right?” Chuck’s mouth fell open as if pulled by a string. “Right about what?”

“You are still so easy, kid,” he snickered softly, letting his fingers slide down his arm, going lower until he reached the tie. Hooking a finger around it, Casey tugged gently, making Chuck step forward. “C’mere,” he said, and cupping his jaw, he bent in for a kiss.

“No, you don’t.” Chuck sidestepped him, almost smacking his head on Casey’s chin. “What do you mean? Were you just joking – all of that earlier? Leaving if I do something, uh –”

“Incredibly stupid and risky?” Casey spoke over him.

“I was going to say brave, but semantics, you know.” He was panting and confused, feeling like the idiot that Casey was trying to save. “Was all that just a –”

“No.” The smirk turned hard. Another tug to bring him in, and Casey circled his back with his strong arms and held him, jaw resting along his cheek. “That part was true. Still is,” he said, and with proximity in his favor, a hand fell teasingly lower on his backside. “And I knew it would piss you off. So the kiss … that was something you wanted. Easy.”

“Easy –” 

“Stop. We’re done.” Casey ducked his head, was kissing him again. Trying to kiss away his hurt, his noises of wordless protest. 

No strength to fight him right now, Chuck kissed him one more time. “Hate you when you do this,” the kid breathed against the straying corner of his lips. 

Tickling his stubble, Casey moved his mouth over his, pressing in to shut him up. Chuck wanted to say it didn’t work, but when his tongue moved lazily against his –

“Hey, Casey? Chuck? Are you guys – whoa.” 

The sound of a wet kiss ending was not supposed to happen. 

Chuck froze. His blush went nuclear, turning three shades of crimson. The unsanctioned recon was going to have to wait.

Casey pulled back a few inches, leaving a hand on Chuck’s shoulder and another on his ass – like a trained spy was not going to notice that? “Walker,” he replied blandly. 

Sarah put one hand on her hip and cocked a smile. “Did you boys … work everything out?”

“Did you interrupt us for a reason, or were you just looking for admission to the cheap seats?” Casey asked nonchalantly, as if he didn’t get caught with his hand locked on his asset’s asset. “What is it?”

“Hmm?” Sarah was still staring. “Oh. Your phone. You left it in the van.” She held up Casey’s burner and waved it at him. “Someone has tried to call you five times in the last two minutes.”

“Dad,” Chuck said in a hoarse whisper, shuffling away from his boyfriend to get some breathing room. “He needs to know … I’m okay.”

“Eh.” 

The noise of disdain made Sarah roll her eyes at her ex-partner. “Get over it, Casey,” she countered with a wink. “With any luck, you’ll be calling him that too.” 

Chuck fought another blush at the insinuation but had to give Casey a crooked grin. “Or Stephen. Really. He wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Casey scrubbed his hands over his face. “Get your scrawny ass back to the van.”

“Wait, wait a minute. Are you forgetting something?” Chuck put out his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Can you cut these, please? It’s not exactly comfortable.”

Sarah sprang forward a few steps, provoked. “Casey? What the hell? You left him like that?”

“You try talking to him,” Casey said, lifting a shoulder. With an almost guilty look, he turned to Chuck. “Here. Hold out your hands.” 

Obediently, Chuck held them out, frowning at him. A knife appeared from Casey’s pocket, and the plastic band was cut. “Geez, thanks,” he said, massaging the red welts. “Talking … is that what you called it?” Chuck waited for the snappy retort, but his boyfriend was already in mission-mode. Casey turned a deaf ear to him and led the way to the van. 

“Unbelievable.” Chuck huffed and shook his head at his broad, stiff back. “So … damn … stubborn.” 

Cautious to see that Casey was out of range, Sarah drew to a halt and put a hand on Chuck’s arm. “Everything okay?” she asked. “Seriously, did you work this out? Did he talk?”

“Actually, it was the antithesis of talking,” Chuck said, dragging a hand through his hair. That felt good to do again. “More like orders. The only thing missing was the salute. But, hey, I needed my hands for that.”

“Uh, not to be nosy or anything, but … I can be a good listener.”

“Sarah.” He kept his eyes focused on Casey’s back and smiled with no humor. “I know you’ve never heard me say this, but … I don’t want to talk about it.”

Didn’t want to talk about him leaving. The ultimatum. The fact that Chuck had to give up fighting for him.

Casey owned him – for now, at least. 

-x-

By the time they had crossed the parking lot and reached the van, Chuck’s pep talk between his ears to the man who needed a shower and about three days of sleep was taking hold. Until they were home, he needed to cinch up his big boy pants, keep his mouth, well, semi-shut, and stay out of Casey’s way. Period. Casey could handle McClure and Beckman, and without a doubt, now was the Wrong Time to discuss the ultimatum.

That bastard. Did he just give him an ultimatum?

This was not helping. 

Closing his eyes while scratching the back of his head – don’t think about it – Chuck forced a smile and meandered up to the side of the van. Casey was sitting on one of the bench seats in back, already at work on a computer. A small table holding a spider web of wires and cables – surveillance equipment, listening devices, and monitors – was perched in front of him. Chuck thought it looked vaguely like something borrowed from Castle. 

He stopped to admire the two gutsiest people he had ever met. His own posable action figures with fun and scary accessories. 

“Nice van, guys. The rather large Lieutenant crumpled in a heap on the floor really gives it that … homey feel, don’t you think?” Chuck surveyed the borrowed equipment. “Wow. Impressive.” 

“What? It’s just a laptop with a satellite feed,” Casey said, keeping his eyes on the screen. “Scrounged up a few things when we got here.”

“No, it’s impressive that you set it up without my help.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Get in here.” 

“Are we calling my dad?”

That got a response, and Casey turned in his seat to look at him. “Not yet, kid,” he said, stuffing the phone in his pocket. “We need to deal with Beckman now.”

Chuck looked up in time to see Sarah arch a brow at Casey, but if she thought the NSA agent was stalling, she kept her lady feelings under wraps. 

Okay, maybe Casey had a point. He could wait.

“So, I think you’ve only roughly alluded to the rest of this plan of yours, Casey.” Chuck climbed into the surveillance van and got a better look at the equipment. And weapons. “Oh, shiny. Where did you guys get all of this, anyway? The spy shop next to the Big Dumb Mighty Jock’s store?”

Casey and Sarah shrugged in unison without owning up to anything. “Walker.” Casey slanted her a look and tuned out Chuck’s inquiry in one smooth move. “Go outside and wait while –” 

“You make a conference call to your boss. I’m on perimeter surveillance … outside the van. Is that a nice way to say ‘butt out’ until then?”

“I believe it is,” Chuck remarked, smiling between them. “Funny how he can do that without moving his lips, huh?”

“Well, call me if he shoots the monitor.” Sarah eyed her ex-partner and holstered her gun. “I hear he can get surly.” 

When Chuck opened his mouth, Casey held out a palm. “You girls done so we can get this over with?” 

“His mood has improved, don’t you think?” Sarah asked. 

Chuck was still giving him the stink eye for the implication. “That it has.”

Sarah jumped out onto the pavement like a sleek cat, sliding the door closed behind her. “Behave, boys,” she said, grinning.

Chuck went red, straight down his neck to his chest. Looking to the side, he saw that Casey had a grip on McClure under the armpits, and was busy hauling him to a seated – well, kind of flopped – position across from the monitor. 

“Wait … what are you doing?” Chuck pushed one of McClure’s arms more towards the center of the table. “And keep him over there in the middle, hmm?”

“Heh.” Casey tapped the agent’s cheek. “That’s why he’s sitting there. Said he wants to be part of this, right? Let his bosses see him for what he is?”

“And what am I doing during all of this?”

“Sit.” Casey kicked out a chair and nodded. “Comb your damn hair or something before we get her on the video feed.”

“My hair?” True, it hadn’t been combed – or cut – in a while, and it was probably standing up and waving at his boyfriend. Sighing, Chuck smoothed it down the best he could, and gave a half-shrug. “I thought you kind of liked –”

“I do,” he said, sounding amused. “Take a seat and try to keep the germs over on that side.” 

“I hate to tell you this, big guy, but if you were worried about germs, what just happened out there probably crossed any boundaries of contamination.”

Casey fought a smile, and then looked badass again. “Time to make the call.” He looked down at McClure, still comatose and pitched forward in a chair, his head on the table. Chuck was at his left elbow, and Casey flanked him on the other side, closest to the monitor.

Which meant the larger man had to lean over McClure to lay a kiss, quick and warm, on Chuck’s mouth, a soft touch of lips – 

Casey pulled back. “And kid?”

“Y-yes?” Chuck stammered, eyes still closed in the shadow of the kiss.

“Look at me,” he ordered quietly, authority creeping into his tone. When Chuck’s eyes popped open, a sea of swirling blue filled his vision. He was still so close, inhaling against his chin. “I need you to keep out of this. It’s between me and the General. You got that, sport?”

“I guess.”

“You’ve gotta do better than that.” The warning was softened with a hand rubbing the back of his neck, then his thumb grazed over his lips. “Seal them. For now, anyway.” Casey winked, just in case the meaning was lost. “Ready?”

Chuck coughed. “You know, I never realized how the thrill of the hunt and s-e-x dovetails so terrifyingly well in your mind.”

“Shut it. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Chuck nodded towards the monitor. “How do you know you’re going to be able to hack into the – oh.” He blinked. Then for lack of anything better to do, he waved at the screen. “Uh, hi … General …?”

It was a toss-up as to who was more surprised. The Human Intersect, unexpectedly staring at the woman who had held his fate by wielding her scepter from her tiny throne, or the petite redhead who had been interrupted mid-gulp with a cup of coffee to her lips. 

“What the –” One glance at the video feed that had popped up on her screen, and coffee spewed out the side of her mouth, spraying over the official seal of a rather substantial looking report. Her eyes roamed from her missing asset to the rogue handler. “How – how did you –?” 

That was a new look for her: stunned … with coffee dribbling down the side of her chin. 

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to, uh – you have a little bit right there that you might want to ….” Pointing to his chin, Chuck then lowered his hand and cleared his throat dramatically. “Never mind.”

Casey, on the other hand, simply turned to her with a ‘Missing anything?’ expression – one that would tie her epaulettes in a knot – and took his sweet ass time folding his arms over his chest. 

General Beckman, however, did not garner four spit-polished stars by letting her demeanor get away from her. As quickly as she had lurched in her seat, her face became a mask of indignation. She settled back in her leather wing chair and mirrored Casey’s motion by crossing her arms. “Major,” she said evenly.

“General,” Casey replied, just as casually. “I’ll try to keep this brief – since I know you’re in the middle of a major recovery op.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t make this more difficult, Mister Casey. Perhaps you should consider turning yourself in.”

“I wouldn’t bother with that – your hand, General. Slipping it under the table to hit the panic button? Alerting your assistant to this unplanned call? You’d just be wasting your time. Ma’am.”

Carefully, she brought her hand up to rest on her desk. “You took a great risk, contacting me like this.”

“That so?” Casey chuckled softly, shook his head. “This signal is bouncing off satellites like bb’s off of a pop can at Boy Scout camp. I’ll be long gone, and your technicians will still be trying to find their butt cheeks with both fists and a hand drawn map,” he told her. “I only wish I could take credit for it, but yeah, I’ve got some help."

It took all of Chuck’s self-control to keep his features schooled, letting his eyes drift from the General to his boyfriend. Did Casey just compliment his dad? The ‘technical assistance’ that had helped get them this far? 

He did. The kid had to bite down to hide the smile.

“Obviously, John, you didn’t make contact with me to gloat over your ability to elude my team.” Her frown deepened. “What is it that you want?”

“Straight to the point. Suits me, too, General.” Defiantly, Casey’s jaw tightened. “We have a simple negotiation on the table.” 

The table also had a fair amount of drool on it, thanks to long strings of saliva pooling under McClure’s face. Chuck was going to point that out, but the ‘keep your mouth shut’ rule seemed to be hanging out there, so he decided against it.

“I have what you want.” Casey straightened and tilted his head towards Chuck, giving him a fleeting look. “The only working copy of your Intersect.”

“In exchange for what, exactly, Mister Casey?”

Chuck’s spine stiffened. He dug his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palms to quell his surge of annoyance. Okay, Casey was trying to build his case, but was it necessary to talk about him like inanimate baggage? Or worse, like an asset?

“The Intersect wants his life back,” Casey said matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes locked to the screen. “His home. His family. A normal existence. Which, under the circumstances, isn’t possible, but I can do something about the rest of it. So, the exchange, General? You rescind the kill order, we go back to Burbank – and you get your Intersect. Access to it, at least. That’s what you want, isn’t it? His brain?”

Beckman stared for a second before letting out a sardonic snort. “If that’s your proposition, John, I’m sorry to say it’s not possible. Have you forgotten? You retrieved the Core, but you killed Chavez. We had no way to question him – and we have no idea who had access to the data on the Core. The Intersect’s identity. The asset could be in danger if we let him stay in Burbank.” Pausing, she bent forward in her chair to peer closely at her former agent. “And I would think, considering your relationship that came to light, you would be the first person to protect him from that danger.”

It was probably not the time to point out that the Intersect was getting miffed at being discussed like he wasn’t in the room. Chuck closed his eyes briefly and counted to five in sort of Spanish. Nice plan so far, Casey.

“Danger. Really, General?” Casey snorted right back at her. “With all due respect, Ma’am, you sent him straight into their den. Reynolds, the kind doctor in Sterling, was Fulcrum. They were getting ready to transport him –”

“How is that possible –”

“You have traitors in every agency. It was just a matter of waiting. Monitoring your secure facilities for any persons of interest. You moved, they struck. It was like a gift for them. The only thing you forgot to do was stick a bow on his ass,” Casey muttered. 

“A what now?” Chuck bristled and crossed his arms in front of him. Well, that was unnecessary. Any concerned boyfriend overtones were gone – and though his logical side told him the why, the kid saw red in front of his eyes. 

Not that it mattered. They went on, ignoring his little outburst.

“Doctor Reynolds,” Beckman repeated, gauging Casey’s reaction to the name. “The blast outside the facility? I thought I picked up the scent of your calling card on that hit.”

Casey shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“There will be more just like him, however. What makes you so sure you can keep it safe?”

“Because I’m the only one that has been able to keep him safe so far.”

Automatically, Chuck’s hands curled into fists under the table. The whole ‘mouth shut plan’ was going to disintegrate to dust if Beckman called him an it one more time. 

“Your proposition is too risky.” 

“And your bunkers are infected with Fulcrum collaborators, as well as your trusted agencies. The Intersect – Chuck – stands a better chance with me, hiding in plain sight, where obviously they haven’t figured it out yet.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Protocol dictates –” 

“Then I’m afraid we’re done here.” Casey leaned down, reaching a hand over the switch, and stared hard into her eyes. “Have a good life, General. Good luck with the spy work.”

“Don’t do it, John. Have you thought this through?” Beckman’s glare could be classified as intensely frightening, Chuck thought. “You don’t have a chance, Casey. We’ll find you. Do the sensible thing, and bring yourself in – with the Intersect. It will be easier for him.”

“Your agents will find me?” Casey brought out his SIG, dug out a cleaning cloth, and started to rub the barrel, looking uninterested. “Let me get this straight. They knew where I started when I went off the grid last week. They knew where I was headed. Hell, they even knew what I was going after, and yet somehow, I’m here with him and you’re missing an Intersect.” He made a pfft noise, shaking his head in disbelief. “Amateurs. And this time when I disconnect, we could be headed anywhere on the globe,” Casey said. “So, General, are these going to be the same agents coming after us again, or did you get a new crop in?” 

“You’ve made your point, John. I’ll have you know my finest agent is leading the recovery effort.”

“Wh-who?” Chuck blurted before he could stop himself. “You don’t mean … you couldn’t possibly be referring to –”

“Your new handler. Lieutenant McClure, of course.”

Widening his eyes briefly, Chuck slowly raised his hand. “Uh, permission to speak, General?”

“Mister Bartowski, please lower your hand,” she said between her teeth. “Do you have something to add?” 

Chuck tilted his head at her, and then exchanged a look with his boyfriend. Somehow, the top of the head on the table had evaded Beckman’s sight line from the video cam. “Uh, Casey?” the kid asked.

“What?” Casey was suddenly busy inserting a clip into his SIG, trying to look innocent. 

Chuck blinked at him, deciding a guiltless expression didn’t quite fit on his boyfriend face. “Why don’t you tell the nice lady what you did with her agent?”

“Heh.” Casey lifted the gun and squinted down the sight, pretending to test the laser. “Not done with him yet, that’s why.”

“What are you talking about?” One of her eyebrows arched up as Beckman glanced questioningly at Casey. “Have you –”

“Is … this the one who’s coming after us, General?” Chuck picked up McClure by the hair to point his face at the monitor. “Oh. Cherries,” he mumbled when the goo squished between his fingers. The kid dropped McClure’s head – it landed with a satisfying thump – and wiped his hand on the young agent’s shirt. “Sorry … so sorry. That was an accident.”

“Then get the smile off your face,” Beckman snipped to the kid. 

“General,” Casey broke in, squinting in warning towards Chuck. It told him the ‘shut up rule’ had been violated enough for now. “Your answer.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “You want to go back to Burbank. You think the Intersect will be safe there. With you.”

“You forgot complete exoneration from all charges and my status reinstated.” 

Beckman’s glare settled to ice. 

Casey snapped a magazine in place and lifted a shoulder. “Fine.” He put the gun down and reached for the switch to cut off the comm link. His finger hovered for a beat. “Kiss the Intersect good-bye.” 

Good-bye? How could he be so goddamn indifferent about his life? What was he doing?! 

Instantly, Chuck’s hands were shaking under the table and his stomach roiled, threatening to empty. Ellie. Dad. Morgan. This plan clearly was not working.

“C-Casey, you can’t be serious.”

“Sorry, Chuck.” His boyfriend shook his head.

Now was not the time to freak out – no, no, no – 

“Wait!”

Chuck felt his limbs go numb, and in a fuzzy part of his mind, he realized that he wasn’t the only one who had shouted.

“Wait.” Beckman said again, raising her palm towards the screen. When she saw she had stopped him from disconnecting the feed, she let out a deep breath. “One moment, Major.”

Chuck thought she sounded shaky, but that could’ve been him. His stomach had bottomed out; his blood had gone to water – nothing was holding him up.

“Wait what?” Casey kept his finger over the switch.

“You’ve … made your point,” she said icily. “I’ll … accept your terms.”

“And that means, General? No offense, but just so I can hear you say it.”

Beckman shot him a look: ‘tread cautiously, Major’. “The NSA retains access to the Intersect, and you – well.” She looked at Chuck and nodded. “You’ll be re-integrated into … what it is that you do.” 

“Good. We have an agreement, then.” Face neutral, Casey stuffed the gun away. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Wait!” Chuck placed his hand over the switch before Casey could end the call. “Again – both of you,” he heard himself say, wondering if they could tell he was freaking out. “We’re not done.”

“Not done?” Casey turned in his seat, and Chuck wasn’t sure how to interpret the look on his boyfriend’s face. Well, maybe he could. Pissed as hell came to mind, for one. “This is the part where close your hatch and you get your life back,” Casey whispered harshly. “Or did you forget?”

“Uh, no.” Chuck veered his eyes to the General, trying to ignore the mountain of a man looking daggers at him. Just say it. “But I have a term as well,” he insisted. “And I should point out that it’s non-negotiable.”

“Kid,” Casey said, barely audible. “Whatever this is, when we get off the call, we’re gonna have a long talk about following orders –”

“Mister Bartowski.” The General flapped a hand in Casey’s direction to shush him, and then turned her focus to Chuck. “Let me guess. You want the NSA to sanction your relationship. Turn a blind eye to the fact that –”

“That’s not it.” Normally, her judgmental look would’ve made him feel incompetent. Geeky. Not this time. He didn’t know where it came from, but a shot of courage in his belly bolstered him and he met her gaze head on. “You see, if I ask for permission, it would imply that the government has authority over my life, and from now on – well frankly, General, it’s none of your damn business who I sleep with.” 

A sound from Casey’s throat interrupted him. Shifting uncomfortably, Chuck slanted a sideways look at his lover, noticing muscles rippling along his forearm. His hands were clenched tight, perhaps imagining the neck of a certain nerd grasped tight in about five seconds from now.

Oh, crap. He was reminded how much Casey hated surprises. 

“What are your terms, Chuck?” Beckman asked, sounding impatient. 

Chuck bit down on his lip and looked at Casey, nowhere else. His face in profile was sturdy, unyielding. The kid’s eyes trailed over the sharp angle of his nose, his cheekbone, the hair starting to curl in the back over his collar.

He was going to really hate this. 

“General, I’ve been informed – rather recently – that I can no longer put my,” and Chuck stopped to make air quotes with both hands, “’idiot self in danger’ to protect my teammate.”

“You’ve been told that from the beginning,” she said, nodding towards Casey. “Don’t tell me you finally understand that you cannot risk the Intersect.”

Casey made a noise in his throat, this one in full concurrence. 

“Then, uh, if that’s the case, I’m respectfully requesting that the Major’s role on the team be … altered under this new agreement.”

Beckman crinkled her forehead at him questioningly.

On the other end of the table, Casey looked like he wanted to throttle someone, pull out his groin hairs one by one with rusty tweezers, and stuff McClure’s arm down his throat.

Well, this could be worse. He wasn’t sure how, but hey, he was Chuck Bartowski, so the possibility had to be out there. 

“Altered how?” Beckman asked. 

Angry blue eyes shifted to Chuck, demanding he avoid her question. “Shut it,” Casey said.

“This is between the General and I.” If Casey wasn’t already sorting through options of Very Bad Things he could do to his boyfriend, that had to seal the deal. Chuck felt his heart hammer harder. “I think we can assume, General, that Fulcrum is going to be an unknown threat – for now, for months– who knows. And if the Major is my protection detail,” he said, warily, “how do I know the person assigned to protect me is safe? Don’t you think it’s a risk … for the only agent guarding the Intersect to dive headlong into gun fights or warehouses with weapons stashes when you give the order?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if Major Casey is my, uh, body guard of sorts” – well, in a really good x-rated sort of way, but whatever – “then, we need someone else to take care of the big blasty things that go boom around here. Because it happens a lot. We need someone to watch his back – the man guarding the Intersect – when the shooting starts. Don’t you think that would be prudent, General?”

“Hell no.” Casey rose out of his chair, shoulders squared and holding his wrist with one hand. Combat Ready Mode, Chuck called it. Not good.

“Hear me out, Casey.” The kid repressed a wince at what was to come. “You need to –”

“Ma’am,” Casey said, not looking at him. “The asset sustained a head injury. I should –”

“I’m fine, General –”

“–apologize for the babble. I’m completely capable of assuming my prior role.”

“Stand down, Major.” Beckman straightened, waving him off. “And I mean it. Sit.” She waited until Casey begrudgingly complied. “In this case, I believe the asset is correct. I agree with him. Another member of Team Bartowski would be prudent – safer for both of you – and in retrospect, could’ve alerted me to certain modifications in the team dynamics.”

Like the two remaining members having copious amounts of dirty sex on every flat surface from Castle, to Casey’s apartment, and even the Buy More storage cage for the past four months? 

Huh. Chuck had to give her kudos for wording it so delicately.

“I beg to differ,” Casey started in again. “Another agent also poses a risk. Who knows what –”

“That’s quite enough, Major.” Her eyes traveled from one man to the other, settling on Casey. “When the new agent is vetted and joins the team, we’ll moderate the number of death defying situations you find yourself in, Casey.” She nodded at Chuck and her mouth tugged up in a cynical smile. “That’s the body you’ll be guarding from now on.” 

“But –”

“And Casey, one more thing,” she went on, focusing on the top of McClure’s head. “Don’t kill him.” 

“General, that was not part of the deal –”

“Contact me in the next forty-eight hours. Give me time to clean up the mess.” The video conference ended before either could get in another word.

At the sudden silence, Casey sat in erect military posture pointing a hard cold stare at the blank monitor, and not saying a damn thing. His thick arms folded over his chest and heat rolling off his body, however, conveyed the message clearly – that there was a line in the sand, and Chuck had just crossed it. 

The combination of alarm bells in his ears and survival instincts kicking in made Chuck scoot back in his seat. Hold on. Casey would not hurt him – right? Besides, the kid had only played the card that his boyfriend forced him to. 

Oh, God. Chuck focused on him now, aiming his dark wide eyes at Casey – eyes not carrying a hint of uneasiness or fear at how Major John Casey would react to his slightly adjusted role on Team Bartowski. 

And, who the hell was he kidding? 

“Hey … sweetie?” Mustering up a lop-sided smile, Chuck reached out and stroked the top of Casey’s hand, brushing over his huge knuckles. When his boyfriend didn’t look over at him, the kid then attempted to thread his fingers between Casey’s to hold his hand. Again, no dice. Unbending, Casey pretended not to notice the touch, easily keeping his fingers clamped together tight. Chuck’s best wheedling smile faded and he sighed. “Uh, do you have anything you want to say right now?” 

Well, that did it. Casey narrowed his eyes at him, and Chuck blinked – which in hindsight, was a mistake. Because that was all the time it took for Casey to twist his hand around, snatch Chuck’s wrist and yank him close. He didn’t stop hauling him until their noses were a mere hairsbreadth away. 

“Again, might I remind you – ow. Gentle, gentle. I know you might be feeling a little –” 

“When this is over,” Casey growled, holding on but adjusting his grip, “your ass is mine, pal.”

At that moment, Chuck was fairly certain he didn’t mean it in the bunched-up-blankets-and-clean-body-sweat-on-bare-skin way. His technique was way less fun. 

“Casey?” Chuck attempted to pull his hand away, but that was pointless, so he stared back at him. Jesus, did he have to be like this? “You’re mad. I get it, okay? You’re thinking of a dozen ways you want to punish me – well, that’s the wrong word –”

“No, I think you hit it –”

“Or how you can torture me without leaving marks or teach me a lesson –”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few ideas.”

“But get this through your mulish head,” Chuck said, relaxing his arm so that Casey would let go. “I’m going to do everything it takes to keep you safe, too.” His jaw firmed. “Get used to it. You’re stuck with me.” 

“Is this about Walker?”

“What do you – Sarah? You think this is –?” Chuck gaped at him. “This is about you! It’s about us. How can you even think that? I don’t care who the other agent is!” For the love of God, don’t you know anything?

When Casey opened his mouth, no doubt with another threat ready to spill, Chuck did the only thing he could to end it for now. Leaning in, he kissed him, his other hand latching onto his shirt front and holding him there. He pushed in, fitting his lips to his and getting a taste of musky heat and anger. Don’t care. There was control, rough and wet on his mouth, and for a ridiculous moment, he got lost in it, not letting Casey dominate it. 

Then he heard a low rumble, and the solid band of muscles bunched under his fist, a signal that Casey was going to finish this if he didn’t. 

“… shut up, Casey….” he managed to say on his smooth cheek, but resisting the urge to push him further, he did end it. The kiss was gone before his boyfriend had the chance to shove him back.

“Don’t you dare think you’re going to fix this by –” Casey began.

“Yell at me later,” Chuck mumbled against his mouth, fingers curled around Casey’s inner wrist. “Right now, I have to call my dad … and say goodbye to a friend.” 

Then, the kid did what any self-respecting boyfriend of a trained killer with that look on his face would do. 

He made his getaway out of the van as fast as his long legs could carry him. 

-x-End Way Back Chapter Ten-x-


	17. Chapter Eleven

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Eleven) 

-x-

“No, dad, you don’t need to come here. I’m, uh, in good hands.” Well, a pair of potentially lethal hands that belonged to a pissed off giant, but there was no freaking way his father needed that little headline news.

On the other end of the line, Orion made a sound that Chuck interpreted loosely as, ‘I bet you are,’ mingled with, ‘don’t remind me.’

Oh, great. In case it wasn’t abundantly clear, Casey and his father’s mutual distrust and reluctance to accept their common bond – him – still wasn’t working well for either of them. 

Just another bit of fun waiting for him when they get home. 

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose – not helping – and glanced over his shoulder to see if Casey had stuck his head out of the van. There was no sign of him, which did nothing to squelch his lingering worry despite his efforts to shove it to the back of his mind. Face facts, he told himself. After the stunt with the General – for his own good – Casey was in there most likely plotting the demise of his partner … one that would cleverly leave no pesky evidence. No traces of body parts. Okay, maybe a pile of mussy hair. A size thirteen shoe. That would be it.

Because seriously, how many ways does Casey know of to dispose of biological matter? The ‘just now recently deceased’ kind of matter. It had to be dozens …

“Charles, are you there?”

“Wh-what? Oh … I’m here, I was just, uh …. How is Ellie doing on the honeymoon? Have you heard from her? Better yet, how did you get her to not hop a plane home when I didn’t return a call in ten days?” What excuse on earth would cover this? A behemoth sink hole swallowed him and at last spit him out? Or how about for once, the truth. ‘Hey, Ellie, I was packed away in a sterile government bunker infected with Fulcrum agents. But no worries. My NSA assassin boyfriend – oops, did I let that slip out? – broke in and sprung me. Now he wants to kill me, but that’s another story.’

Okay, get real. Ellie might be able to read him like a book most of the time, but he wanted her to believe the extent of danger he encountered in his life was a nasty airsoft war in the Buy More after closing time.

“Their flight comes in tomorrow night – and if I know the female Bartowski gene, I’m sure she’ll be ready to kick your butt for not returning any of her calls.”

“Oh, crap.” Chuck scratched the back of his neck while searching for a plausible cover. “Ellie’s never going to let me live this down. She'll –”

“Slow down, Charles,” Stephen broke in before he could get rolling. “I took care of it. You have been texting her – often enough at least – and with the time zone difference in Fiji, to say nothing of your surprise trip to Santa Barbara courtesy of … the Major, it’s been impossible for you to get in touch with her.”

“Santa Barbara? Wouldn't that be … listen, Dad.” Chuck pushed one hand through his hair, now sticky with sweat. “We’ve been dating for almost five months, so I think ‘Casey’ – or hell, let’s go out on a limb here – ‘John’ could be added to the rotation of names for my … boyfriend.” After thinking about it, he lowered his voice and added, “Yes, he’s an NSA agent, scary as hell, and works for the very same government you … seem to disdain.” Get over it, dad. 

“You sound a little …. Charles … is there … what’s bothering you?”

“Bother –?” How does he do that?! “Dad, I’m on my way home.” Chuck avoided glancing over his shoulder, because he felt Sarah watching him. “Why would something be bothering me?” 

“Because something is –”

“I’m fine. Good actually,” he said, trying to pump up the chipper note in his voice. “We were just getting ready to –” He turned towards the van, right about the time Casey appeared in its doorway with a very large unconscious goon draped over his shoulder. “Oh. Oh, no. Uh, dad? You know what? I’m going to have to go now. There’s something I need to –”

“Charles, what’s going on –”

“It’s kind of ….” His eyes traveled over Casey, then to the remnants of dried cherry on the top of McClure’s brush cut. Gaping, he stopped to clear his throat. “It’s … a little hard to explain, but see you soon, dad. Today, even. Buh-bye.” Cringing that he had let loose a buh-bye, and worse yet, two deadly agents had overheard it, he closed his eyes and ended the call. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he explained. 

“I always thought it was cute,” Sarah observed, obviously amused. 

But the witty retort on his tongue dried up when he drew his attention back to his boyfriend, trying to slink by with McClure on his back. Oh, nothing good was going to come of that. 

“Casey?” The kid was on his heels as Casey rounded the van and dumped McClure on the other side of it, hidden between the vehicle and a hedge of flowering bushes. “Can I assume that you’re just going to leave the nice man there for Beckman’s fellow G-men to find?” 

The larger man simply squinted at him. The real fury in his eyes told him McClure wasn’t going to get off that easily.

“Again … can you perhaps share with the class? Uh, what’s shaking?” Chuck nodded at the heap on the ground and looked up at him. “What do you … plan on doing? Because I seem to remember Beckman ordering you not to –”

“Walker?” Casey cut him off, turning to look at the woman who had sauntered up to them. “Can you babysit for an hour or so?”

It took Chuck two seconds for his brain to register that Casey was talking about him. It took one more for him to straighten to his full height and look his boyfriend in the eye, bristling. “Two points to make here.” Chuck lifted his fingers dramatically to count them off. “One. I’m standing right here, you know. Two. I am a grown man, and have been an adult for a few years now – cutting my own meat and everything, mom and dad. But thanks.” 

“Chuck, he probably means you need to get some rest. Isn’t that what you meant, Casey?” When the NSA agent started to open his mouth, she raised a brow at him in warning and looked at her watch. “I have a few hours until I need to get to the airport, so yes, I can stay.”

Casey shrugged, gave Chuck one hard look – what the hell does that look even mean? – and started to walk away from them. 

“Whoa. Whoa there, big guy.” Chuck grabbed onto his sleeve, then tightened his grip. He could feel the swell of his bicep harden. “Where … where are you going?”

“I have one last lose end to tie up,” Casey replied, glancing at Chuck’s hand.

“Uh, would this lose end involve … oh, I don’t know, a blow torch, or electric shock paddles of some sort? You do remember what the General said?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s kind of obvious – and a simplified version of an answer.” Chuck increased the pressure of his hold and took half a step into his path. “Casey?”

“Chuck.” Casey shifted so that he blocked Sarah’s view, and now his mission-mode expression was staring back at him. Caution flags flew up.

“Can you at least – guh.” 

Smoothly, Casey clutched the front of Chuck’s jacket, pulling him in close to take a kiss, effectively ending the chatter. Chuck went still for a split second, momentarily shocked that he would kiss him – and in front of Sarah to boot. But when Casey’s lips coaxed his to open, increasing the pressure and need, Chuck could only lean in, curling his fingers in the front of his shirt and kiss him in return. Warm and hard, a quicksilver deluge of his senses – and gone in a heartbeat. 

It was too late when he realized it was one of Casey’s go-to battle tactics, which Chuck had started referring to in his head as the ‘shut up kiss’. 

Dammit. That has got to stop working so well. 

Chuck opened his dark brown eyes, blinking at him. “What’re you going to –?”

“Stay.” 

“That’s getting a little old, don’t you think?” 

Casey gave him the patented ‘and I don’t give a shit’ look. Letting go of his jacket, he used his confident soldier stride to cross the parking lot before another question could follow in his wake.

Frowning, Chuck watched as he disappeared around the corner without looking back. With no explanation, he had left McClure in an unmoving heap, still bound and out of sight on the other side of the van. What the hell, Casey?

“Come on.” Sarah nudged his shoulder. “We found a few apples and a box of crackers when we were in Castle. You have to be starving. Oh, and they always keep blankets in the surveillance vans when agents are pulling round-the-clock jobs. Maybe we can rustle one up.”

“Sounds like a blast.” Even though the mention of food made his stomach rumble, Chuck stared at the spot in the distance where Casey had vanished. “Did he tell you what he’s up to?”

“Well, you know him better than I do.” Sarah climbed into the van and waited for Chuck to get in behind her. “What do you think?” 

“I think that you’re wondering why I asked such an obvious question because, of course, he didn’t tell you anything.” Sighing, Chuck plopped down in the narrow space between the bench seats and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Cozy. I still don’t know why we’re waiting here.”

“One thing I’m sure you figured out is that he always has a reason. Just sit tight, hmm?” Sarah searched through a storage bin under one of the seats and held up a blanket. She sniffed it cautiously. “Here. It seems clean at least.” Tossing it to him, she reached for a brown sack on the passenger seat and sat on the floor, wedging herself into the small space that was not taken up by a pair of long legs and big feet. 

“I can move.”

“That’s okay.” She crossed her legs and pawed through the bag, pulling out two apples and a pack of crackers. “Here. Catch,” she said, pitching one apple and the crackers, keeping one apple for herself.

“You are lifesaver,” he said as he dove into the Ritz Bits, spreading them out like a feast on his lap. When they were gone, he attacked the apple next, munching away at it while Sarah watched him with an inscrutable look. “Oh, sorry.” He waved the apple core sheepishly. “Manners, right. I should be thanking you at least for remembering to scrounge up –”

“Chuck.”

“Yeah?”

She leaned forward and tapped his foot. “It was Casey who remembered the food. Not me.”

“Say what now?”

“Casey.” She held out her hands as wide as the space would allow, smiling. “Big guy. Shoulders like this. Maybe you know him?”

“Well, if he brought this … maybe he wants to keep me alive a little longer? Who knows? Perhaps he’s cooking up a nefarious plot to use my –”

“Chuck,” she repeated, stopping him with a shake of her head. “Eat the rest of the apple.”

“Okay, okay.” Obediently, he did. Anything to hold off the lecture. “I guess after all of this time, I still don’t know him that well.”

“Oh?” A sly smile grew around a bite of her apple. “Now, I know we’re not talking in the biblical sense, are we?”

“Hah. Just when I think it’s safe to venture into a conversation with you, it comes up again. Huh. Come to think of it, that afternoon in the motel when you tortured me for Intel might move up on the list of my most regrettable moments of all time.”

“Really? Behind what?”

“Somewhere after deciding to take Professor Fleming’s class on subliminal imagery, but in front of eleventh grade theatrical speech class when Morgan and I demonstrated the Dantari species’ way of … you know what? Never mind.”

“Because?”

“Trust me.” Chuck rubbed his eyes and then crumpled up the empty cracker wrappers. “You don’t want to know.”

Sarah flashed a grin and handed off a bottle of water and two pills. “Now that you’ve had some food, take these.”

“And they are?”

“Painkillers.” She tapped a finger on her own temple and squinted at the side of his face. “The swelling is going down at least.”

“Well, isn’t that super-duper.” Chuck ripped into the tiny packet and sifted the pills into his palm. “Then why does it still feels like my head was used for crash testing in a Pinto,” he mumbled, popping them into his mouth.

“A what?”

“You know, the bulbous little car with the –?” He made a swooping hand motion at her dumbfounded look. “Gas tanks that combusted while parked in a garage? Uh, never mind that either. You are a Godsend for this.”

“Casey.”

“Oh.” Chuck stopped mid-motion while twisting off the water bottle cap. “So, Casey remembered the water.” He tried not too sound dismayed. “And the pills?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sarah rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk? Tell me what happened out there.”

“Because it worked so well the last time I told you … things.” Chuck threw the water bottle cap at her good-naturedly, but luckily for her, no matter how much time he had spent at the shooting range with Casey, his aim still needed improvement. It bounced off her upper arm and landed next to her foot.

Sarah picked up the cap and crossed a finger over her chest. “Never to be repeated. Promise.”

“Sar-ah, please, I really think you know who would only get more angry if I –”

“Spill, Bartowski.” 

“Threats, Ms. Walker? Since the asking nice method failed?” Chuck took a drink of the water and furrowed his brow as he thought it over. “You have to answer a question for me first.”

She stopped chewing on the apple. “I can’t,” she told him flatly.

“You … can’t? But I didn’t ask – can’t what?”

“Chuck.” Sarah looked slightly guilty while she played with a lock of her hair. “I overheard the conversation with the General. I was standing right outside, remember? I knew it would be only a matter of time before you asked the question. So, I figured I should say something now.” She hugged her knees, keeping her eyes locked to his face. “The answer is no, I can’t.”

“Crazy me. Of course you were listening. Besides getting to travel to exotic locales on the government’s dime – and use your mad ninja skills for the greater good – it’s one of perks of the job.” Chuck looked up at the ceiling of the van as if searching for sympathy, shaking his head. “So, you know about the new team member – and I suppose you heard how pissed off he is that his role will change.”

“Yep.”

“Then what do you mean you can’t?”

Sarah leaned back and finished chewing her last bite, obviously buying a few seconds. She never looked away, and for the first time, he noticed thin lines on her face. “I made a mistake, okay?” she said after an eternity. “I shouldn’t have left. I abandoned my team when I walked out of Burbank with Bryce. Yes, Bryce and I have a past, and yes, a few months ago, he screwed up for good this time. But I’m not going to make that mistake again. I belong back with my team, and your team is here. With Casey.” Sarah’s lips curved up in a grin as she pretended to weigh the proposal. “Though, it is tempting. It would be interesting to watch you two together.”

Water spewed out the side of his mouth. A coughing fit ensued while Chuck tried to cover his face and clean up the mess.

Sarah shrugged, chuckling at his blush. “Maybe that knock to the head rattled something loose in there? I didn’t mean … like that.”

“Well … I …. Fine. Can we change the subject, please?” Chuck wiped his mouth, self-consciously hiding his flushed face. “It just means Team Bartowski will keep looking for a new candidate. Who knows?” he pointed out, scowling. “Maybe two.”

“What?” She had only a brief confused look, however, before it hit her. “Despite what you think, Chuck, trust me on this, he’s not going to –”

“Sarah, he threatened to leave me if I do anything to put myself in danger. Leave. As in go somewhere else. Somewhere I’m not, I might add.”

She put the bottle down and lifted her head, watching him. Like a script that had played out a million times when she was his handler, this is where he expected Sarah to offer soothing words of encouragement, or tell him ten reasons why he was off base about this. A time to remind him he could be an idiot when it came to reading people. 

Which meant that sound was the last thing he expected.

“Wait. Hang on there.” Chuck raised a palm flat in the air like a stop sign. “Are you … laughing?” He blinked twice and angled his head to confirm it. “Sarah, I think the words that just came out of my mouth were that Casey would leave, and somehow this is humorous?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have –” After a second or two, she swallowed her laugh and sobered again. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get … what?” Chuck gave her a baffled look as he kicked the blanket aside, sitting up higher. “And before you answer that, I need to remind you, this hasn’t changed since the last time you were in Burbank.” He pointed to his head. “It’s still a blend of semi-brilliance and obviousness co-located in one happy space, so you may need to spell it out for me.”

“Sorry, Chuck. I can’t.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, her eyes settling on him. “You’re smart, though. You’ll figure it out.”

“Okay, slow down. First of all, when did we get dropped into an alternative universe where I’m taking relationship advice from, well … maybe this detail occurred to you, but you suck at this!”

Crossing her arms, Sarah gave him a mock offended look. “Since we’re being honest, I hate to be the one to point out that your track record in this department – until Casey – was rather suspect as well.”

“Point.” Chuck moved a shoulder, not able to argue that. “But still, what do you mean?”

Her face never changed. “He’s … well, that’s for you to think through – and to talk with him.”

“Talk? Really, Sarah?” Chuck snorted, derisive. “Did you see him look at me like that?”

“But he’ll never leave you,” she insisted. “Not now.”

“I don’t know, Sarah. I think I blew it.” Chuck set down the bottle and dragged a hand over the back of his neck. “What makes you think that?”

“He loves you.”

“Oh, right. That’s why he would leave,” Chuck said tersely. He winced at the thought. 

“It’s the same thing,” Sarah replied. 

For a woman who could speak a dozen languages fluently, none of this made sense. “The same?” Chuck looked her in a daze. “I don’t ... get it.”

“Yes, and not the same at all,” she added quietly.

“What?” He felt his heart hammering at the unfathomable idea that she seemed to know something about Casey he didn’t. How could that be? “Explain.”

“Let’s just say, he had the perfect example of what not to do when … what you’ve kept hidden comes to the surface.”

“But what is it?”

“Well.” The mask wavered just for a flash. “Something you don’t go looking for, but … when you’re not looking, it catches up to you. And when it does, your world changes,” she said. “Being invited in brings in demons with it … You get an eyeful of your own human elements. Your weaknesses.” 

“Weaknesses? Sarah, I’m talking about John Casey. ‘Pry it from my cold dead hands?’ or the more colloquial ‘It’s clobberin’ time?’ Ring any bells here?” What the hell was she getting at? Chuck held up his hands in frustration while his head spun wildly. “I still don’t get it, okay?”

“Chuck, your apparent obliviousness aside, you heard me: you are smart.” She picked up the stray bottle cap he had tossed at her, and before Chuck could duck, it bounced off the top of his head harmlessly. 

“Hey! No fair,” he sputtered, massaging his abused head. “What was that all about?” 

“You’ll have to figure it out.

-x-

“Where’s my son? Oh wait.” Shit. Even Orion’s pause managed to be sarcastic. “Based upon your track record, that was plenty of time. Now you’re going to tell me you lost him again.”

Right about now, Casey regretted the decision to call the old man into action one more time. He bit down on his bottom lip, holding back his darkest curse for Chuck’s daddy, and made himself let out a slow breath.

Settle, soldier. Settle. Don’t let him do it. 

Being a pro meant recognizing a good baiting. Hell, he had used it enough to know. So instead, he took his time slowly sauntering up to McClure’s SUV – waiting behind Mel’s Diner – and just let the question hang there. Making him squirm. 

Besides, one blow-up argument with a Bartowski male was more than enough already today, and he sure as hell did not need to hear dear ol’ dad tell him he screwed up. Not now.

“You know, I’m reconsidering this,” Casey finally rumbled as he reached into his front pocket and dug out McClure’s keys. “I was gonna have you lend your expertise one more time on this op –”

“Such as how?”

“– but now that I think about it, nah. This one … it’s out of the limits of even the masterful Orion. I think I’ll need to find another way to work the hack. Well, glad we had this –”

“Hack?

“– little chat, eh, Orion? Why don’t you back to figuring out how you can” – Go fuck yourself – “break into your son’s Opentable account to get a good seat at Mario’s tonight?” 

“Stand down, Major. You’ve made your point.” Stephen Bartowski sounded riled up. Mission accomplished. “What’s your hack?” 

The locks on the SUV released with a satisfying click. “Not easy,” Casey said, climbing in. “Maybe impossible. Even for Orion.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. More to the point, no network is impossible. Some are just more resistant at first – so what is your target?” 

“The NMCI network.”

“And you’re going to tell me what that stands for?”

“Navy Marine Corp Intranet.” 

“Oh. I see.” Stephen chuckled softly. “That’s a little more than getting the table next to the window.”

“If it’s too much for you, I can check in with the morons behind the Nerd Herd desk this morning,” Casey replied as he backed out of the parking spot. “Maybe Jeff and Lester are between installs and could –”

“Hold on there,” Stephen cut in. “I understand your baseline is half-steel, half-surly, but this is cranky even for you, Major.” Orion halted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had an argument with my son.”

“I’m hanging up now.” 

“You … did. How could you – he’s been kidnapped and God knows what, and you –”

Fuck no. Casey could hear the leather steering wheel snapping and cracking under his hand as he gripped it. “You’ve got two seconds to give me an answer before I –”

“No, no, no. Stop right there.” After a silence, he said, “I’m listening.”

“Good, because that wasn’t exactly the only secure network I need you to hack.”

“Fine, because that wasn’t exactly a challenge.”

Smartass. “I also need network access to the Pentagon, the Capital building ….” Casey grunted. “Oh. And while you’re at it, the … White House.” 

-x-

“Chuck, wake up.” 

“Hmm? G’way.” Why was someone talking when he only wanted to keep the blanket over his head, ignore the voice.

“Casey’s back and I have to go.” A pesky hand peeled back the edge of the cover and brushed over his hair, then his cheek. “I wanted to say good-bye.”

Sarah’s voice. Hard to read if Chuck didn’t know already how she felt about saying good-bye yet again.

“Okay, okay, I’m up.” Chuck raised his head and scooched the blanket down, scrubbing his face. “Where is … Casey … came back?”

“You sound surprised. Were you listening to anything I said earlier?” Sarah poked him in the ribs to get him moving. “Before you fell asleep in the middle of talking?”

“I did? Sorry. I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

“No more than the usual.”

“Nice. Thanks.” He tipped his head up and saw that the side door of the van was open. God, he was some spy. How did he sleep through that noise? It hurt to move, but with every limb creaking, Chuck climbed out of the van behind Sarah and stretched his limbs. “Where’s, uh – oh …. There you are.”

Whatever he had done, Casey was now leaning against the side of the van, arms folded in front of him. A mile of curved hard muscle, long legs – and looking suspiciously pleased with himself. 

“Get enough sleep, princess?”

“Well. You’re in a good … mood.” Chuck purposely drew out the last word, knowing it would ruffle him, but did he have to be such a prick about this? “Though, I have to say, you didn’t kill or even torture the nice man and you still have that spring in your step. I’m proud of you, big guy – seriously, I am – because I know how badly you wanted to hurt him.” Turning, the kid tipped his head towards the ground where Casey had left McClure – 

– a place which was now minus one unconscious agent.

Chuck’s eyes flared and he spun around, almost tripping over Sarah. “Casey, where – what happened …? He was right there!”

Casey jammed his hands in his pockets and affected an innocent look. But if he were a giant cat, Chuck thought, a canary feather or two would be sticking out the side of his mouth. “What?” Casey said, shrugging a large shoulder.

“You … what did you – I mean, don’t get me wrong, I hate him as much as you do, but that doesn’t mean –”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, kid. I kept my bargain with Beckman.”

“Oh? Did you now?” Chuck mimicked his stance by crossing his arms and deliberately strolled up to stand toe to toe with him. The kid inclined his head, studying that little corner of his eye, the twitchy muscle of his cheek. Piercing blue eyes stared back. “Huh,” Chuck said. “You’re telling the truth. Good boy.”

“Good what?”

“Man. Very large man.” Chuck reacted quickly by pointing a blazing grin and scrambled back a few steps. “Now tell us what you did to him. Please.” 

Casey shrugged again. Then he reached behind his back as if going for his gun. 

“Whoa. I didn’t mean Show and Tell – as in the distinctly horrifying version of that game – so just … oh, is that your –”

“Cell phone?” Casey waved it in front of his nose. “I thought most nerds would recognize one of these.”

Well, at least that was a good sign. Casey was teasing him again, which in his unique vernacular, was half a notch away from flirting. 

“And you’re showing me your phone because …?” While he was speaking, Chuck slid forward a tentative step or two, trying to catch a glimpse of the images Casey was scrolling through. “I mean, I think I can assume you’re not looking for –”

“This?” Casey held up the display and grinned.

Chuck narrowed his eyes, focusing just for an instant. “What is – oh holy God.” He froze, yelped, and slapped his hands over his face. It didn’t do a lick of good. The image was stamped into his brain as powerful as any Intersect flash. “I – ah – I don’t know what that was but can you please – and I’m begging here – put your phone away.”

Casey chuckled. “Open your eyes, Bartowski. Just a harmless lesson. I was never going to kill McClure. I always had something better planned for him.” 

“You weren’t? Oh, wait. Is that somehow better?”

“McClure wanted to get noticed by the higher ups, didn’t he?” Casey flashed the screen at him again, waiting for Chuck to take a look. “Well, that’s an attention grabber, eh? And he’s unharmed.”

“Unharmed?” Chuck squeaked, peering between two fingers. “He’s naked! And wearing other obvious accessories that I don’t want to think about!”

“What’s that – oh my.” One of Sarah’s brows went up. “Nice work, NSA.”

Oh, Jesus. Thanks, Sarah. Because if she could look at it without making high pitched noises, wasn’t he forced to man-up now and take note of the display on Casey’s phone? Chuck licked his lips and let his hands drop, never really letting his eyes land on the image for more than two beats. After that, it was just disturbing.

“You … could’ve picked a different color?” the kid asked, flicking his hand at it. “A nice shade of indigo, perhaps? Even chartreuse would’ve been an improvement.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Chuck, I think you’re being too harsh on your boyfriend’s taste. I kind of like it.” Sarah tilted her head and dared to lean in for a better look. “The color looks like a cross between cotton candy and an organza dress my dad bought me when we knocked off the Salvation Army storehouse in Wichita.” 

“Girly enough for ya, Walker?”

“Uh, do you have any idea how scary the two of you are?” Heaving a breath, Chuck forced himself to look at it, blinking while his eyes watered. “Casey … did you really … spray paint him bright pink from his chest to his – well, lower thighs? And in case this isn’t obvious, everything in between?”

Casey held his phone up prominently, taking issue with the unscientific description. “First, it’s not pink, ladies, the container said raspberry sherbet.” 

“Which makes this better.”

“Much,” Sarah agreed. “It’s a more distinguishing hue, I think.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Second, it’s not spray paint. Not … technically.”

“Really?” The last thing Chuck wanted to do was get an eyeful of a naked and very pink man, but on the other hand, what was it then? Before he could stop himself, he poked curiously at the screen and sniffed. “That’s not spray paint?”

“Nuh-uh,” Casey confirmed, looking smug. “Automotive paint. Sparkly, eh?” 

“Automotive? As in a car?

“Is there another kind, Bartowski?”

Chuck glared, thinking he didn’t deserve that. His brain was recovering from mind burn, after all. “Okay, automotive paint. How does that even come off?”

Casey snorted. “Chemical solvent and a hell of lot of scrubbing.”

“Oh.” Chuck darted a look down, and because it was his birthright and duty, he winced for men everywhere. “That’s gonna hurt.”

“Forget the color. What is that thing, Casey?” Sarah bent forward and her eyes took on a wicked gleam of mischief. “The thingy he’s wearing … did you …?”

Up until that moment, Chuck was silently thanking the gods that the thingy was being completely ignored, overshadowed by the obvious nakedness and cheerful, albeit nauseating, hue of the man. 

As if he could be that lucky. Thanks again, Sarah.

“Oh, let’s just stick with thingy and keep it at that, hmm?” Chuck scrunched his eyes closed. “Don’t say it don’t say it please don’t say it –”

“Heh. They call it the ‘Manhandler’. Leather was a little stiff, but it was two for one at the Naughty Butt Nice shop.” Casey turned the phone towards his face, examined it and grunted softly. “Bitch getting it on him, too.”

“And there it is,” Chuck muttered, hands flying up to protect his eyes again. “Can we – whatever that thingy is, can we just change the subject, please?”

Sarah snickered. “Fine. Where is he anyway, Casey? I can’t tell from the picture.”

“Goddess here will recognize it if he ever opens his eyes.” A large palm wrapped around Chuck’s wrist and gently pulled his hand down. “Know the place, kid?”

With some difficulty – don’t look at it don’t look at it – Chuck inched ahead and inspected the details of the image, besides the palpable one. “Brown shag carpet. Fast food wrappers. Empty liquor bottles – and an eight track tape player … with Duran Duran in the slot … Oh, no.” Chuck looked up at his boyfriend’s smirk. “That’s … is that … he’s in Jeff and Lester’s van Epoch? That’s where you left him?! Like that? Casey, they’ll –”

“Let him loose and report the incident to the police?” Casey’s smirk grew. 

“Hell no, they won’t!” Chuck gaped at him and swung a hand in the air, while the babble went into high gear. “They’ll buy a fifth of Jim Beam and drive around town tonight, trying to sell him to a group of gypsies up on Woodland Hill! Or drill a hole in the side of the door and start their own traveling peep show! Ten dollars for a peek! Or –”

“Or use that thingy to start a dog walking business?” Sarah asked, only mildly sarcastic. 

“There were rules, Sarah.” Chuck frowned at her. “We said no talking about it!”

“I never agreed to those rules,” Sarah managed once she was able to stop chuckling.

“Please stop laughing – oh.” A horrible thought struck. “Wait a minute.” The kid wrinkled his nose and turned to his boyfriend. “That thingy. Did you say … two for one?”

The NSA agent gave him a humorous look that lacked denial. 

“Don’t worry, Chuck.” Sarah had to cover her mouth to hide something that sounded like a giggle. “He’s just pulling your chain.” 

“Wow. Betrayal on all sides,” Chuck deadpanned. “Glad I’m here to entertain the government operatives in the room, though.”

Casey rolled his eyes and put his phone away. “All right, princess. Don’t wanna offend your delicate sensibilities.” 

Even though he seemed to be joking, Chuck gave him the stink eye anyway, just in case the message had not penetrated. 

“I’m going to miss you. Both of you,” Sarah said, intervening delicately. Hesitating, she looked down at her watch and stepped back. “It’s been fun, guys, but I have to go.”

With the abrupt announcement, an awkward silence fell over them. Of course she had to leave. On the outside, Casey and Sarah were beautiful and strong … but when spies became fragile and tangled, they packed their bags and baggage – and left town.

“Wait. One more thing.” Chuck thought about it a split second longer and he turned to Casey. Tensing, he slipped his fingers around a powerful, sure hand and pulled him in close, until he felt a hard shoulder bump against his. He was a little wary, wondering how Casey would react to being tugged like that, but Chuck was relieved that his boyfriend let him do it. They stood close, forming a perfect triangle for the last time. And holding on tight to Casey’s warm large hand, he imprinted this precise moment in his mind. 

Don’t go, he wanted to say. Don’t leave.

His eyes were on Casey. Everything else inside of hiim screeched to a halt.

“Well … we said good-bye the other night,” Sarah began. “And I don’t think we’ll be saying this again, so I should probably –”

Look at them. She’ll stand there and stumble out the rest uncomfortably while Casey folds his arms over his chest and stiffens like iron. “God, the two of you can be so damn dense,” Chuck said, running a hand over his face. 

“What?” Sarah lifted her head to look up at him.

As an answer, Chuck surged ahead and pulled Casey along with him, yanking his hand hard. Before either spy could freeze, or push back, or gripe, the kid used the advantage of his long arms to hold them in a three-way, spine-cracking hug. It was an honest to God embrace – and to hell with hiding on the guise that real spies don’t hug. He allowed no squirming or fighting, and his arm muscles tightened around them, keeping both in a strong hold, keeping them there.

She was his friend. He was his life, and together, they were the best present he had ever been given.

They both went stock-still at first, but after catching her breath, Sarah rose up on her tip toes and returned the hard squeeze. Whoa. He was reminded how strong she was. 

“Stay out of trouble, hmm?” she whispered, muffled against his shoulder. “Stay safe.”

“I’ll do my best.” Chuck thought of Casey using his brute strength to fight his clumsiness, disentangling himself from the impromptu embrace. To his relief – and frankly, amazement – that didn’t happen. It wasn’t exactly a bear hug in return, more of a begrudging tap on the back, but hey – Casey let the hug surround him too. Pleased that he acquiesced, Chuck slid his hand up to brush the pad of his thumb lightly over on the bare skin of Casey’s neck. 

He could hold on for another second ….

Sarah pulled away first, smiling wanly and watching them, eye to eye. “This is the last good-bye, so you have to listen to me.” She cleared her throat. “Take care of him, will you?” 

“I will. Take care of him, that is.” Chuck held back, waiting for Casey to echo the sentiment. Or, not and leave a black hole of silence hanging there. Like now. “Uh, I almost have him house trained, and he only bites strangers on occasion,” he went on to joke lamely, filling the gap. “The choke collar gives him a little chafing, but other than that –”

“Shut it,” Casey told him, then met her gaze. “We will.” To signal that was the end of it, he crossed his arms and glanced down at his watch. “You better run along, Walker. And next time, bring your partner. I have a new target range at Saddleback Butte I’d like to show him.”

“That reminds me of a movie – you know, the classic ‘two men enter, one man leaves’?” Chuck said, frowning at the stubborn set to his face. “He gets points for subtlety, though, doesn’t he?” 

“Among other things.” She winked and gave them a small wave. Chuck started to wave back, but he caught a flicker of something hidden in her eyes that stopped him. What was that? Before he could open his mouth to ask what was wrong, or did she forget to tell them something, Sarah looked away. She walked out of their lives, and probably for good this time.

After a moment of watching the spot where she had rounded the brick stairwell, Casey started to move away from him. “Oh, no, no, no.” Chuck tightened his grip on Casey’s arm. “I need you to listen to me, John.” He closed the distance Casey had opened up and pivoted to face him. With the heat and proximity in his favor, his arm slid around his waist, getting a feel of muscles bunched with tension. “That’s not lip service, you know.”

Casey gave him a steady blue look. “What,” came out of his mouth, though the kid was certain he damn well knew what.

“Taking care of each other. I plan on doing that.” Chuck shuffled his feet between his, pressing in to hard thighs and through the denim jeans feeling every contact point between their bodies. Close enough to smell his soap and aftershave. “I don’t know what got into you … what you said out in the parking lot. I mean, really, are you nuts? But I’ve thought about it. Well, here’s a newsflash for you, Casey.” Chuck touched his jaw, his thumb swept over his cheek. “You won’t leave. I’m not going to let you. You can growl and bark at me, and get angry enough to bend me like a paper clip –”

“Heh. Tempting.”

“But it doesn’t matter. I won’t let you.” Chuck tilted his head, rewinding his words. “On a side note, that sounds a lot less creepy and, well, overall stalkerish in my head than saying it out loud – but you get the point, Major.” 

“We have a job to finish.” Drawing back, Casey pulled himself out of the hold, gently though. “Can’t go home yet. I need you to get your scrawny butt in there and wait for me.”

“Again?”

“Yep.”

“Because …?”

“An hour. Tops. I’ll be close by.” While he spoke, Casey shouldered open the door to the van and nodded at him, waiting. 

“Hmm. Surprise,” Chuck mumbled, trying not to sound petulant. “A non-answer. Not to be ungrateful, but I thought we were going home?”

Casey stuck his thumb in his belt loop, still waiting. 

Not deterred, Chuck folded his arms over his chest and put on his best face of defiance. Uncertain where this was going, he scrolled through the options of how he could convince Mister Locked and Loaded that whatever it was, they had Beckman’s approval to go home, and dammit, that’s where they should be headed. 

“Well?” Casey pointed his chin towards the door.

All right, maybe it was time to get a little bold here. Scrambling, Plan B came to the forefront. 

Oh, shit. Here goes. 

Rolling his shoulders back, the kid meandered up to the side of the van and stood tall, then dragged his fingers through his waves and shook the sweaty hair out of his face. “That whole scrawny butt thing?” he said, lop-sided smile perfectly placed. “I think I should let you know – well, you may remember this – but it comes with an expansion pack of other interesting bits and pieces.” 

There. Okay, he said it. It was out there for the taking, because let’s be real here: after ten days of no boyfriend fringe benefits, how much convincing would this take, really? Now let’s go home.

Casey’s eyes narrowed, studying him from his feet to his cock-eyed hair. Then, he chuckled. “If you’re done there, tiger, hop in.” He lifted a thumb towards the door. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Seriously? Has that ever not worked? 

Chuck huffed. “I guess I’ll go wait in the van.”

“Good thinking. Here. Catch.” Casey pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it. Another apple. “Need anything else?”

To be home … maybe lie in their big bed, limbs tangled under the blankets, to watch an old sci-fi movie and eat take-out straight from the container. To bury his face in the bare skin of his neck, put his nose in that soft line of hair at his collar …

“I … guess not.” 

-x-

Government agents. Pfft.

Sarah knew. Whatever it was making Casey put up a wall, she knew what it was. Acted like she had lived through it and came out the other side. 

It hurt. It hurt more than his head or his lungs, all of it. Chuck pulled the scratchy cover over his chest and tried to stretch his limbs in the tiny space. Five minutes had ticked by since Casey left him and still his eyes were wide, staring up at the ugly hounds tooth pattern on the ceiling. Okay, he hadn’t left. That wasn’t fair, but still. The wound was there.

I’ll leave.

The burn of his words left marks like gunpowder, singeing the flesh that had been stitched back together time and time again. 

Not this time.

“Oh, hell, Casey,” he breathed, resting his forearm over his head. “Whatever it is, get over it. I’m not afraid of you or your world or life when it gets messy. You’re stuck with me.”

He didn’t say the next part aloud. That he wasn't going to let him carve his heart out.

But it was there as well. Always with Casey. A niggling doubt wrestling with uneasiness in his gut. His throat closed up tight and suddenly there was something huge welling up, wanting to leak out, made it hard to breathe. 

“What is it so fucking hard for you to believe that I … love you? Is that it?”

Talking to the hounds tooth ceiling was not helping. Even Casey would’ve growled politely by now or hauled him upstairs to shut him up in that toss him on the bed and press sweat-slick muscled flesh to him while they worked off restless energy way if he heard him talking like this. 

What if Casey was damned tired of all of it? Chuck’s inquisitive – well, to be honest, maybe a teensy bit prying – family, his odd-ball friends. The job. So maybe the agent figured out that he deserves more than a socially awkward nerd with only half-way decent aim, even after months of practice. 

He stared, shaking off the compression of uncertainty and his own doubt. 

“Chuck, don’t be an idiot,” he said in a low voice. “If he wanted to put this behind him, Casey would’ve left you to rot in that bunker. That’s not it.”

Settling back on the floor, Chuck closed his eyes, believing it. 

Almost. 

But not yet.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Eleven-x-


	18. Chapter Twelve

Casey vs. The Way Back

Chapter Twelve

-x-

The General sat alone at her small conference table, flipping through the final version of the report she had prepared, one that exonerated her agent and reinitiated Operation Bartowski. Impossible, but the team was returning to Burbank.

Examining the final page, she sighed out of frustration at the outward appearance of the proceedings. An AWOL agent. Her finest protégé. One who had evaded her officers and recovered his asset, against all orders and policies. And now, the same agent was to be fully reinstated, returning to a field assignment that had become … complicated.

There was more, though. Underneath her frustration, she felt a small sliver of vindication. It wasn’t a complete mission failure, since obviously the Intersect would continue to be accessible – playing a high stakes game of Flash and Tell – and there was no arguing with the team’s stellar performance. Two years worth of open missions had been cleared from the books in a matter of three months. It was also reassuring that the man she had worked with for fifteen years – scrupulously honing him into the agent she made use of when delicate situations arose – would be returning to her fold. 

That was the rub. Was he truly returning as the same man she had sent to Burbank a year and a half ago?

Beckman supposed that he was still Major John Casey – on the exterior, at any rate. But being foisted into the Intersect’s life had caused a struggle in him, more conflict than she cared to think about. His actions told the story. 

She opened another folder that had been set off to the side, and went still. Her eyes shifted over the contents, neat rows of pictures and mission specs. A collage of black and white grainy images from surveillance cams, and a few crisp candid shots mingled with official identification photos. 

The image from the Major’s NSA badge caught her attention first. His thousand-yard stare. Look at the eyes. Cold hard pieces of ice. His face was as one-dimensional as pencil lines forming a square. 

Her jaw clenched when she scanned the next set of pictures. The cameras in the lobby at the Sterling facility – the night of the unfortunate event – captured an image of a different man. A living breathing dragon, blowing fire, and prepared to snuff out anyone standing in the way of his intended target. 

At the next photo, she managed a smile, putting one fingertip along the outer edge of the snapshot. The Major wore his Dress Blues, a midnight-hued coat and sky blue trousers … while Mister Bartowski looked, well, perhaps a little less awkward in a crisp black tuxedo. The candid shot came courtesy of the bartender they had planted at the wedding – only as a security measure, of course. That night, she was impressed with the exemplary cover maintenance Casey had endured. Dancing under twinkle lights to a sappy love song, all in the name of protecting his asset. 

Picking up the picture, the General focused on their profiles. It should have been obvious that it took no effort to stand so close, chins and noses almost touching. Eyes locked together with warmth that couldn’t be faked, much more than a mask plastered on only to suffer through the wedding. No, this was something else. And missed completely until the Major had vanished.

Beckman tucked the picture into the file and nodded as if he was standing at parade rest in her office. “John Casey, what are you thinking now?” A man who abandoned the essential plan of his life, every part of who he was, and everything that made him what he knew, had to be carrying a burden. Feeling his own vulnerability. Did it hurt to get a good look at the stranger in the mirror?

Her eyes skimmed over to the next photo. Chuck Bartowski. Here was a young man who held the country’s most prized weapon between his ears – she was almost getting to the stage of admitting that without groaning – but that wasn’t how he had taken out two of the agencies’ elite. For that, there was no Intersect required. Only that odd smile of his, apparently, and God knows what else. Ruined the spies by spoon feeding them a weighty conscience perhaps. 

Inexplicably, however, the rather … interesting arrangement between handler and asset was working quite well. In favor of all involved parties. 

“Let’s put this little … episode behind us,” she spoke under her breath, surveying the pictures one final time. “We have the Intersect where we want it … and 2.0 will soon be –” 

Out of nowhere, an unprofessional noise – one that sounded like a scandalized shriek – erupted from the hallway. 

“What the …?” Beckman jolted. For the second time that morning, her drink splashed over the side of her mug, this time sending a river over her report. “Oh dear God,” she grit out, sopping up the mess. “What is going on?”

She listened, hoping it would cease. No such luck. The urgent voices continued to bubble up from the hallway outside her office, and it took her a moment to realize they were mingled with … laughter? Laughter. What in the world would cause her staff to act like middle school children? 

“Ma’am.” A young officer in a crisp uniform poked his head in her office. “I apologize for interruption, but … there’s a … I mean to say –” 

“Kennedy.” During his two year tenure as her personal assistant, she had never witnessed the even-keeled junior officer quite so worked up as he was now. Beckman scooped up her papers and pushed them to the edge of the table to avoid the puddle. “Why are you – please explain to me what is going on out there.” 

“I … there’s a – well, I don’t know ….” Kennedy shook his head, and at a complete loss, he scurried around the tiny woman to get to her desk. By the time he reached her laptop, his face had gone from ghost white to red. “You see … there’s, uh –”

“Spit it out, Kennedy.”

“General … I can’t really describe … you have to see this.” He pivoted the screen around to face her and cleared his throat. “It’s – ah … –”

“Oh … my …. What in God’s name and all that is holy is that?”

“It’s everywhere, Ma’am. A ma –” Blushing furiously, he lowered his voice. “The entire network has been infected … by a – well, Ma’am, a pink … naked … man – wearing a … I don’t know what that thingy is ….” Flustered, the young assistant jumped when his desk phone began ringing off the hook. “I have to get that, General,” he stammered. “What should I say?”

Son of a bitch. This could not happen on her watch. But despite the stern directive in her head, if anything, the voices in the hallway were getting louder. Phones rang, and feet could be heard scuttling from desks to hallways to offices. 

“Say we’re investigating the breach and – holy hell.” Beckman choked on her words. Leaning in close, she studied the unconscious man – his face, of course – and her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. “McClure?! Lieutenant McClure?” 

“Ma’am!” Kennedy was back in her doorway, visibly shaken. “The Director is on the phone.”

“Put him through,” Beckman replied icily, taking the time to smooth the front of her jacket. “And pull yourself together. Get a status from INFOSEC. Now.”

“General, uh, one more thing.” His voice quivered, forcing him to cover it with a polite cough. “The Director has the President on hold.”

“Then please explain to me why you’re not getting a status, instead of dawdling.” 

“Y-yes, Ma’am.”

Beckman waited until Kennedy had turned his back to her and fled before she narrowed her eyes at the screen, childishly screwing up her face at the image.

“You’ve made your point, Major Casey,” she said, her tone going dry. “And very well, I might add.”

-x-

From the outside, the four story building appeared to be a throwback of the Reagan era, a monstrosity of cinderblocks and mortar, punctuated with slim windows that appeared black from the outside. 

Besides striped leg warmers and Wham!, it was one of the worst reminders of the eighties.

The occupants of Complex Six, a structure several blocks south of the Capital Building, really hadn’t noticed however. They referred to their workplace as the Death Star, though it bore no likeness to the moon-sized space station – until the top was lifted off, that is, and the inner workings were examined. Because on the inside, it was a highly restricted technological environment, a destructive superweapon of the geeky variety. Rows of conference rooms and cubicles held technologically inclined minds of the highest caliber, charged with protecting the security of the government’s data storage facilities and networks. Home of the INFOSEC team. The super nerds.

After lunch on a Tuesday, two NSA technicians were camped out in room 203 when The Call came in.

“What’s that?” Li-Kuai Chou snapped up in his seat, startled, and turned in his rolling chair. Up until that moment, the engineer was in his own world, deep in the process of unraveling the encryption on a laptop that had been delivered to the main bay that morning. “Whoa. Is that –”

“The Bat Phone.” Lewis looked up from his monitor and swiveled in his seat, glancing at his cube mate. “Now what?”

In the midst of the spider web of wires and cables, the technician’s work area held a bank of phones, but only one was given the reverent label of the The Bat Phone. Hell, it was even red – though to the nerds’ chagrin, it wasn’t kept under a glass dome. Only Director Chesterfield used that line, and only when a breach of national security was imminent. 

Or, in unofficial yet more to-the-point terminology, the shit was hitting the fan.

“Yes, Sir,” Chou said as he picked up the phone, and without thinking, he straightened his tie. “Oh? I … Lewis is logging into the Glass House network as we speak, Sir.” He brought up a hand and waved it furiously at his work mate, who took the cue. Immediately, Lewis kicked off from the desk where he was working and rolled his chair to the other side of the room, stopping in front of a keyboard at a large screen. “He’s accessing the landing page – oh. Oh.” 

“Oh … my … God. What the fu–” Lewis’s eyes blew wide. He began tapping keys to no avail. “It’s blocked us.” 

“Sir? Uh, we’ll have a status update … uh, shortly. Yes, Sir.” Chou dropped the phone in its cradle and spun. “Lewis, what is going … holy shit!” 

“How did they – it’s on every computer on the network! The President is seeing this! Hell, Hillary Clinton is seeing this!”

“Never mind how they did it,” Chou said. He tried to avoid looking at the image too closely. “If we can’t break this hack now – and I mean now – we’ll have to take down the entire network.”

“Holy shit is right …. Wait a minute.” In unison, they both leaned in closer. “I know that guy ….” Lewis pointed. “It’s the asshole!”

“What are you talking about?” Chou tipped his chin, looking over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. “You recognize him … how, exactly?”

“Not … not like that! The agent in Burbank, the job last week. When we cleaned out the equipment from that apartment?” Lewis frowned at the image on the screen. “The agent with the asset who wiped out the surveillance?”

“That’s … him?” Chou raised a brow. “But, how would you, uh – recognize him by his, I mean, c’mon dude…?

“Uh, the face, Chou. His face. Recognize him?” 

Chou rolled his eyes and shoved a stack of papers to the edge of the desk, making room to sit down. “I don’t believe it …. Square head. Brush cut hair.” He squinted. “It is him! He’s the one who told us we were –”

“Incompetent. I think his words were –”

“Worthless geeks from Planet Moron?” Chou gave in to the impulse to scan the screen again. “He was the jerk that called you Nerd One. Or was it Two? He seemed to think we were interchangeable widgets.”

“That is the guy.” Lewis leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him, scowling. “Lieutenant McClure.” 

“McClure. Phffftt.” Chou rolled back to his own computer and began typing away. “Oh, the hack? It’s good. This guy is good.” He spotted an object of interest on his screen. “Masterful work. The Mona Lisa smile of all ha –”

“If you’re done admiring the code of da Vinci over there, can we focus? Because, uh, no pressure here.” Lewis dared another glance at it. “Can you block it? Now? Seriously, there is a naked pink guy wearing a – what is that thingy? – sitting in front of the President.”

Chou rubbed his temple for a second. “Planet Moron,” he mumbled to himself. “Yeah, I can block it. The code isn’t malicious.” The smaller man turned to scratch the back of his head and yawn dramatically. “Um, Nerd One – could you use some coffee before we get started? Just five minutes longer… to get up to the cafeteria before it closes.” 

“They could have our asses for this.”

“They’ll never know.”

“So you’re suggesting …?” 

Chou nodded. “What’s five more minutes? The worst it can do is burn a hole in the eyeballs of every poor bureaucratic schlep who happens to be hitting the landing page right about now. So?”

“Well.” Contemplating, Lewis gestured at the screen in a ‘couldn’t hurt, could it?’ sort of way. “Humph. I wonder who he pissed off.”

“Hell, knowing this guy, probably a lot of people. Don’t you remember? He said we were incompetent.”

“Incompetent …. Coffee, huh? I think I could go for a hazelnut.” A cocky grin spread over Lewis’s face. “As long as you can block it when we get back?”

“I can. It’s weird. This guy isn’t tunneling. It’s just … this. And whoa. That is scary."

Lewis glanced at the screen and shivered. Someone had taken great care in the application of the coat of paint – and that thingy, whatever they call it. 

“Are you in?”

“What a dickhead.” Snickering, the technician stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I guess that means I’m buying.”

-x-

Chuck felt something touch his hair, then fingers combing through his unruly waves. “S-Sarah. Just … stop … ten more minutes.”

The touch drew down, lightly scraping back and forth over the rough stubble on his cheek. The kid moved irritably, taking a blind swat at the annoying hand.

“Haven’t I been tortured enough? Geez.” Another swat, harder this time. “Okay, okay, Sarah. Five minutes. Then I’ll get up. Promise.”

Long fingers twined through his hair at the temple, sweeping the dark locks away from the black and purple bruise. Oh, not that. Please not now. Chuck changed the direction of his floundering hand and managed to grab an arm.

“Not Walker, boy genius,” a deep voice rumbled. “You need to get up.”

Chuck shifted his grip without letting his eyes drift open, down the thick forearm – granted, a bit hairier than Sarah’s – and threaded his fingers through Casey’s. At least this time, he let him do it without fighting the hold.

“Mmnm.” Opening his eyes, Chuck stretched his limbs and rolled onto his back. An angular face filled his vision, and he smiled. “My, my, Sarah Walker, has anyone told you that you have man hands? And, don’t be modest – have you been hitting the weight machines?” 

Casey looked down at him, his lip almost quirking into a smile. “Walker left. Or did you forget?”

“Sorry, I was still waking up. Oh, and by the way … that smile that you’re trying to hide looks good there. I missed it.” Chuck focused his sleepy eyes, brushing his thumb over the top of the hand that Casey had yet to pull back. “Given the choice, this is a much better way to wake up. It beats the ‘I’m a little irked at my boyfriend’ look that you seem to have perfected lately.”

“That’s what you call it, eh?” Casey freed his hand from Chuck’s grip, careful not hurt his wrist. “Irked.” Just like that, any hint of the lazy smile evaporated, hidden behind that silent controlled wall of his – and no matter how hard Chuck tried, the puppy-dog eyes were not working this time. 

Crap. Why did he have to open his mouth and remind Casey of the past twenty-four death defying hours? Well, let’s be honest here, Chuck thought – the overall really shitty week. 

“Note to self. Hand holding is out.” Chuck sniffed and made a face at him for unlacing his fingers, but he let it go with that. The kid didn’t feel like fighting him now. He was aching and dog-tired and felt like he had been flattened by a Sumo, and being cramped on the floor was only adding to his misery. The blanket Sarah had rustled up was soft at least, warmed from his own body heat, but … it wasn’t the same.

“How long did I sleep?” 

“Two hours.”

“Sorry I missed all the fun.” Chuck draped an arm over his forehead, glancing up at him through his lashes. “I should thank you for the pain killers, Nurse Casey … but now that I think about it, they may be wearing off.” The thought of moving only made him wince, so he dreaded what the jarring motion of the vehicle would do to the knot on his head. 

He tried not to think about it. About anything, really. Especially Casey’s threat when he had dragged him though the parking lot.

Leaving. How the hell could he even think that?

“Take these.” Casey handed off two more of the pills.

“Why are we still here?” Chuck popped them in his mouth and motioned with a hand. “Aren’t we going back … home?”

Ignoring him, Casey sat on his haunches, looming over the kid with an elbow resting on his knee. He turned Chuck’s head gingerly to inspect the bruised area without the swatting hand from a minute ago. 

“Gentle … gentle, big guy….”

“Fuck.” Casey grunted and his hand dropped to his side. “Why? Let’s just say one thing I’ve learned about my boss is that she can be a tricky bitch,” he said. “And most of the time, I respect her for it. But this time, we had to make sure we weren’t walking into a trap by going back to the apartment.” Casey frowned. “Orion is at your sister’s, so he provided surveillance of the –”

“Hold it. My dad?” Chuck had to shoot him a quick grin. “You asked him to help again?” 

“So I asked him to simply monitor the area for a few hours. I wanted to see if any of Beckman’s suits would be waiting for us.”

“You know, now that I think about it, I’m kind of glad you’re here to consider the sneakier options Beckman would’ve taken.” Chuck skimmed a hand over Casey’s knee cap, smiling. “I’m not very stealthy. Maybe I need some help with my spy training…?”

Casey tuned out the obvious opening. “Then, while I waited to hear from the old man, I gained access to Castle –” 

“You broke in?”

“– Requisitioned the surveillance videos to get rid of any evidence of the past ten days –” 

“Tampered with government resources – hey!” Chuck waggled his brows, even though it hurt. “I know of another government resource you can tamper with – just saying –”

“– Returned most of the firepower I had borrowed from the armory.”

The kid wrinkled his nose at him for several reasons. “Most?”

“And since you were still sleeping, I walked over to check on the Buy Morons and fixed the cover. Wouldn’t want to lose that job, eh?” 

“Hah. Sarcasm.” Chuck’s sour look deepened. “You’re beginning to sound like Ellie. So, what is the cover for our rather lengthy and ‘if-I-tell-you-the-truth-I-would-have-to-kill-you’ absence?”

“I’ll have written authorization due to the military training I was called in to perform. It seems a special ops task force needed my … top clearance knowledge of a suspected weapons base in Cost Rica.”

Chuck’s eyes traveled over Casey’s knees, up to his chest and shoulders, landing on his steely face. “Whoa. Okay, they might fall for it.” He ran palm along the seam of Casey’s jeans. “And me?”

“You had a nasty case of bacterial meningitis.” 

“Bac – what? Oh, nice, Casey. That’s the best you could come up with?” Chuck huffed, pondering for a moment. “Why does your cover sound so badass and mine sound like I used the wrong toothbrush when I was in close proximity to a sorority?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you close your eyes and cover one ear when you fire an AK-47?”

“Hah, again. But next time, maybe we could say I was lifting weights with you, and dropped a barbell on my foot or something?” Chuck levered himself up on his elbows, grimacing at the movement. “You know, a little more manly?” 

“Sorry, kid.” Casey shook his head. “Dropping a barbell on your floppy foot? Gotta save that cover story for the time it really does happen.”

“Wow, such faith in my abilities,” Chuck deadpanned. “It wasn’t officially a drop that one time, just a hard landing. There is a difference, you know.” 

“Heh,” was the only comment to that, and Casey started to stand up.

“Hang on, Casey.” Having long arms came in handy at times – like now – and Chuck was able to fist Casey’s shirt, tugging him back down. 

“What?” the agent asked, eyeing him.

“Well, I need to … don’t get up yet, okay?” Since his boyfriend seemed to have lost some of the tension since the incident, Chuck made a snap decision. He had to know what was in that damn head of his. Peering up at him, the kid dragged his fingers over the top of Casey’s hand, rough knuckles, sweeping up to his wrist. “Can we … talk?”

“Sport, if you think now is a good time to share your lady feelings about what I said –” He cut it off there and his look went solemn. “No.”

“Sheesh.” Chuck’s brows furrowed and he let his hand drop to the floor. “You …. I know you hate this, okay? But, you should be able to tell me what you’re thinking at least.”

“The truth?”

Chuck tilted his head up at him, just to make sure he wouldn’t miss the dramatic eye roll. “That would be the preferable route here, though to be fair, I can’t recall a time when you weren’t.” He noticed Casey’s jaw stiffened right then. “You may withhold information – which really pisses me off now that I think about it – but you’ve always been brutally honest with me. So, yeah. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“Okay, here it is.” Casey leaned down closer until their eyes were even. His stare didn’t waver. “Right now, I’m trying to decide if I should fuck you or strangle you.”

“Oh.” Chuck blinked up at him. In the back of his mind – hell, front and center– vivid images splattered wildly and he had to fight a panicked smile. “Uh, since I’m the first person to speak up here,” the kid noted, “can my vote count twice?”

“Nope.”

“Oh-kaaay. Well, if you insist on the whole strangulation thing, can you at least do the – well, you know – can you do that first, and then the strangulation? Because really, I always thought I would be one of those people that died with a smile like this.” Chuck paused long enough to put on a lazy lop-sided grin. “See? Rather than something not so nice. Like … creepy eyes wide in horror at my last vision, or worse yet, blank fish eyes that are glazed over – oh. Well, hi again?”

“God, shut the hell up,” Casey said, his voice a little husky, leaning down to press him flat. Before the kid could open his mouth, the warm insistent kiss forced his head to sink into the blanket with a soft thump, a hot coaxing settled over him. Thick fingers brushed along his neck, drifting up until Casey’s hand cupped his jaw to hold his face still, gently nudging his lips apart. When Chuck recovered enough to realize the lips he wanted were on his, he reached out to grab the back of Casey’s neck to keep him there. Keep him from running. Or leaving.

Damn him, did he say that?

He felt Casey’s heart pounding right up against his own; he used his teeth to give a little nip, making every muscle clench – and maybe the kiss was his way of admitting a mistake …. 

But the reality hit. Before Chuck could pour himself into the kiss the way he needed to, Casey took hold of his arm, drawing back. “I’m still considering the options,” he said, fingers digging in lightly before letting go. 

“Don’t.” Chuck swallowed, felt a coil of pain twist his gut. “Just don’t … I know you like to taunt or hide behind sarcastic comments – it’s your way of communicating, or … well … flirting. I get it. But don’t make a joke about that.” He lifted his head, his eyes sweeping up to Casey’s face. “This is what I want, even if I’m not sure what you want. Not anymore, so if you –”

“Dammit, no.”

“No?” The kid froze. Right there. Something had shifted behind those blue eyes. When his boyfriend adjusted his position over him, so close but beyond his reach, Chuck swore he saw a quiver run through Casey’s shoulders. 

What the hell was that? 

Not that he knew every scrap of data about the man – there were still plenty of details that needed careful discovery, and the Intersect had very little on John Casey – but he knew and categorized virtually every facial muscle tied to an expression.

The distant look. ‘Get to the point, God dammit.’

The squint. ‘Stay the fuck out of this. It’s for your own damn good.’ 

A quirk when lips whispered over the back of his neck. ‘I want you naked. All the way. Now.’

But this look brought insight from the place of deepest secrets and fears. 

Every breathing moment, John Casey dropped under cover for the greater good – but after countless hours, with limbs tangled together in their rumpled gigantic bed, Chuck had examined every scar on his skin, felt the raised marks left behind that weren’t visible on the surface….

And right then, he knew.

This was unreal. This was not happening. 

“My God! You’re … you’re a –”

“I’m what?” Only Casey could fill two words with enough venom to poison him. 

He’s afraid. 

That was what Sarah meant. Sarah had fled, got out while she could, but him? Major John Casey?

Scared shitless. But still here.

Afraid of the vision – hell, the bitter taste – of his own humanity. He wasn’t looking for it. In the footrace to flee it, it had finally caught up to him. The fear of knowing you have something that you can’t fathom losing.

Fear of this. Of us.

For an eon, Chuck stayed exactly as he was, sprawled on the floor and staring up at him. 

“What are you looking at?” Casey growled, then jerked away to glance at the front of the van. 

“Hey. Come here.” Smiling up at him, Chuck grazed a thumb over the bare skin of his neck, his smooth cheek. “Are you okay?”

That got an eye roll and the glaring thing he did so well. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be okay?” 

“Listen, Major. Or should I say ‘Mister Invincible’.” He searched his face, breathed him in for a moment. The wall was back, but the glimpse underneath stayed with the kid. “You’ve been through just as much as I have – maybe more … and I thought … you might want to talk?”

“Think again, slugger.” Casey stood abruptly – and how a man who topped out at about six-foot-four could forget he was in a van was a mystery. He had to pull back before he nearly cracked his head on the ceiling. “I told your father I would have you back. We should go,” he said.

“Where? Are we going …?” The mention of home forced Chuck to wet his throat. 

“Yes. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Casey looked down at him and fished the keys out of his pocket. “To go home?”

He didn’t know how to answer at first. “Well, that too,” the kid replied, sounding scratchy. 

Lovesick idiot. Get a grip. 

Casey stood still, making Chuck wonder what he was thinking, feeling. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” The agent turned away, climbing into the driver’s seat. Chuck watched as he started the van, slipped on his sunglasses, and pulled out of the parking lot. 

Seriously, Casey?

Not a freaking word. Chuck stared at the back of his head and took a deep breath. Did this mean they would go home, go back to their real lives, their spy lives, and ‘reset’ the dial to normal? Let the soldier retreat under the ‘I’ll leave if you put yourself in danger?’ threat. 

Because in his world, apparently falling in love was scarier than being pinned down behind the walls of a Jihadists bunker with only a pop gun to fend off the enemy. In his world, emotions get you killed.

The kid kept his baffled gaze locked on him. The feelings of hurt and – face it, he thought – some amount of betrayal were pushed down by sheer force of will. Dark brown eyes narrowed at the back of his stubborn head. 

“Well, to hell with that,” Chuck murmured under his breath. “You’re stuck here. With me.”

He was still Chuck Bartowski. He had managed to work his way under the skin of the toughest man the NSA had thrown at him. Hell, the toughest man he had ever met – but considering he had spent his pre-Intersect days as a Nerd Herder and his nights in front of his Xbox 360, well … scratch that. It wasn’t saying much.

Now, after years of floating, his life was finally feeling like a skin he could wear, be comfortable and not out of place. There was a quiet sense of hope for finding where he belonged – and with whom. 

And it was John Casey. It was Casey’s warm touch on his back, a hand on his chest in the shroud of darkness … it amazed Chuck, how he could recall every detail. Squared confident shoulders even at rest, restrained strength channeled into a gentle touch …. 

… and when it happened, a sly sexy grin that put a tremor down his limbs, curled his toes in a way that Casey had once pointed out teasingly, chuckling against his lips.

The lazy current had pulled him in, water swirling around him, taking him under the blue depths. Chuck accepted his fate. All of it, helplessly but willingly. 

He couldn’t quite work it out yet, how it would happen, but Casey would accept what he is, what he’s become, what he can’t change. That being human means diving in too deep. Living with being afraid. 

“Do you know how hard it can be to love you sometimes?” Chuck breathed. “And easy.” Tugging on the blanket, he brought it around his shoulders and raised his eyes in Casey’s direction. It had been new territory for him, too. Afraid to give his heart, afraid to carve it from his chest and hand it to him. 

He’d had so much disappointment before.

But he did it this time. So would Casey.

Because accepting your mortality meant falling on your knees, and never wanting to leave. 

-x-End Way Back Chapter Twelve-x-


	19. Chapter Thirteen

Casey vs. the Way Back

(Chapter Thirteen)

-x-

Twenty-seven hours. That was how long it took to no longer feel like an old man, Chuck guessed.

The kid rolled over and sat up a little, pulling one of Casey’s feather pillows under his shoulders. Sunlight slanted in between the wooden slats of the blinds, painting a familiar dappled pattern on the wall next to the bed. Chuck buried his head in the warmth of the blanket, needing to fight off the glare for a few minutes longer. 

“Too early,” he mumbled to himself, ducking his head lower into the covers. He was hit with the scents of freshly cleaned cotton and Casey’s cocoa butter soap. But only that.

The first morning back home wasn’t starting exactly as he thought it would. The spice and warmth Casey left behind was a poor imitation for the man himself – but his boyfriend had cleared out of bed by the time the kid had let his bleary eyes drift open. Reaching out with a long arm under the sheets, he had expected to wrap it securely around Casey’s side and waist, or twine a leg over one of his. To hold him would keep him from leaving.

Crap. It was time to stop thinking about this. So, stop. 

Besides, he knew where to find Casey. Four mornings a week, he woke early, slipping out of bed like a shadow and heading out for an early run through the neighborhoods behind the park. At least, that’s where Chuck presumed he went since he never witnessed it firsthand – thanks, but no thanks – though his boyfriend had threatened to drag his ‘dead-ass’ along one of these times. Chuck winced at the thought. Simply put, he was pretty sure his body wasn’t made for that kind of action.

The post-routine, however, was one of his favorite parts of the day. An hour later, Casey, sweating through his t-shirt and face glowing from his workout, would tap his head and set a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand. ‘Get up,’ he’d rumble, peeling off his sticky clothes to reveal a mile of glistening skin. “Eyes wide by the time I get out of the shower, eh, soldier?” 

Maybe it was the part that came after the shower that had worked its way up his list of Great Ways to Start the Day. Because without a doubt, watching Casey towel off after a hot shower was a spectator sport Chuck could appreciate. His boyfriend would open the bathroom door, steam billowing out behind him, and he’d have a towel slung low on his hips. Just that. It was enough to get the kid’s sleepy dark eyes to open up, to watch muscles rolling and bunching along Casey’s back and arms, his pale torso. Very interesting beads of water would meander down muscles that Chuck didn’t even know could look like that. 

“Are you getting an eyeful over there, kid?” Casey asked, and Chuck noticed he doesn’t even need to turn around or look up from his sock drawer to know that he damn well is.

“I … wasn’t even – do you …. Okay, fine.” Chuck folded his arms over his chest and a sleepy grin slid onto his face. “You put it out there, and I’m taking a good look.”

“That’s it? Looking …?” Unbelievable, how his voice goes rough like that. Finding what he was searching for, Casey glanced back at him, pushed the drawer closed with his hip. That perfect slow stroll took him to the side of the bed, and his hand came to the knot. Barely moving his finger, the towel dropped to the floor. “Heh. What else are you good at, sport?”

Chuck swallowed, flustered that Casey probably saw his Adam’s apple bob. But holy God, this was not the time to hang back and stare like an idiot. “Um, I think I discovered something here.”

“Yeah?” Casey snickered softly. He brought up a hand to thread strong fingers through the kid’s hair, untangling the morning bed head. “What’s that?”

“Looking can be underrated, you know?” To show him, Chuck reached out and curled a hand below his hip, fingers clenching into his bare skin. Another hand on the other hip centered him. “There. This works, doesn’t it?” Chuck tipped his head to look up Casey’s chest, catching the fact that his boyfriend was breathing heavier than he was a minute ago. Leaning back, he kept going until he could meet his gaze. “Remember? We nerds as a whole – and yes, I feel I can speak for my kind everywhere – we’re more hands on when it comes to equipment management.” 

“God, you are a fucking geek,” he murmured, and his knees bumped against the side of the bed as Casey padded a step closer. And this close, Chuck could feel heat pouring off of a significant part of him. “Hands, eh?” A thumb stroked the kid’s bottom lip, swishing back and forth a few times.

“Oh. Well ….” Chuck leaned in tentatively, then – what the hell, why not? – he licked a warm stripe along his hip bone, trailing over his lower stomach. “There’s … that, too.”

Firm tapping on the top of Chuck’s head sent a jolt down his neck. Shit. Game over. He squelched his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his neck. “Mmmph …. You ruined a perfectly good dream, you know.”

“Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about going back to sleep.” The mattress dipped, and the next thing Chuck felt was a cool palm pressed to his forehead, obviously testing his temperature. Casey’s other hand wasn’t quite so nice – that one grabbed the blanket and yanked it down to his waist.

“Hey!” Chuck swatted out blindly to stop him from taking his cover. “In case you didn’t notice, I was using that.” 

“Stop your squirming.” His palm skimmed down to his cheek, scraped lightly over his stubble. Chuck heard a soft grunt, the one he deciphered as satisfied. “Temperature’s better,” Casey said.

“I know … m’ good now,” Chuck muttered, prying his eyes open to peer up at him. “Please let go of the blanket.”

“It means you need to get up.” 

Casey began to pull his hand away, but Chuck caught his wrist and held him there. He was quite proud of his grip considering he had been sound asleep five minutes ago. “Hold on, big guy. Don’t run off yet,” Chuck said, taking the time to rub the sleep out of his eyes. When he could focus, the kid shifted his gaze up the thick arm he was holding onto. “There’s one more thing.”

“You know, sport,” Casey said, squinting at the hand Chuck had wrapped around his wrist. “I can break out of this, so talk.”

“It’s just, well, I hate to break the news to you, Casey, but … you haven’t been the world’s best nurse in the past twenty-four hours. You’ve been a little … sloppy with the service since we’ve been back here.” 

“Brought you lunch and dinner in bed yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Well, that, yes.” Chuck smiled up at him, deliberately using his wide-eyed innocent look. “You make a good point,” he said, his lashes sweeping down to follow the movement of his hand, traveling up Casey’s arm. “However, there is a problem.” The kid smoothed his fingers over the bulge of muscles and soft hair on Casey’s forearm, stopping at his elbow. “I noticed that you could work on some of the … soft skills.”

“Soft skills, Bartowski?” Casey made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand away, only causing Chuck to tighten his grip. “Is that so?” 

“What I mean – wait. Stay. Please.” God, here goes. Chuck drew in a long breath and shifted his body under the sheet. There, that’s it. Now that he had his attention, the kid tipped his head back enough to expose the tender white skin of his neck and torso. “What I meant to say is that … I may need a full … uh, examination?”

Sheesh. Could he sound any cheesier? Why does the most uncomfortable situation ever – asking for it – always sound better from his boyfriend? Casey had a way of making it sound sexy and normal. It worked for him. But when Chuck had the nerve to utter anything remotely lewd, he always thought it sounded humiliating and tacky, like leaving the house in someone else’s underwear.

Casey didn’t speak, just looking down at him with an expression that was absolutely unreadable.

So this was his punishment for screwing with Casey’s job and, okay, almost getting himself killed? Casey was going to make him suffer? Well, to hell with that. Chuck mustered up a small smile and gradually kicked the blanket lower, leaving only the thin sheet on top of him. If this maneuver failed to do the job, then it would be confirmed that Casey was body snatched during the night. Because now, the topography of his lower body – narrow hips, long legs, and other appealing bits – were revealed in the dip and swell of the rumpled sheet. “I was wondering if you could take a … look?” 

“A look, eh?” Casey’s mouth twisted into a smirk and he relaxed his arm, not pulling back any longer. 

“Um, haven’t you read the nurse’s instruction manual?”

“There’s a manual for that?”

“Uh-huh. It says you should be monitoring the patient’s physical condition.” Chuck grinned up at him and stretched out his legs a little more, lifting one of his knees. There. Shifting exposed pale skin at his stomach, and a trail of sparse, dark hair down to his cock. If he wasn’t blatantly obvious before, this was begging with his mouth closed. “Maybe … help me out with this problem I have?” 

Casey flicked him a look, letting it slide down his body coolly. “You’ve got plenty of problems, Bartowski,” he replied. Half-mocking, but half … interested.

Now that he had his boyfriend’s notice, this was how it would go. The mattress would shift under Casey’s bulk, the blanket tossed aside, and finally a thick thigh would straddle his waist. Not wasting words, Casey would use his long body to pin him to the bed, holding him down to explore bare skin with his tongue and mouth … touching his neck, his chest, warm hands and lips roaming to his stomach ….

Or not. He could be shot down like a hapless pilot who had ventured over the Major’s airspace.

Casey pushed off from the bed, gently twisting his arm free from the grip at his elbow. Looking down at him, he grunted, one that managed to convey perfectly that he was amused by the effort. 

Amused? Chuck blushed with humiliation. Did John Casey just walk away … sex? That … never happens. 

“Wait a minute,” the kid said, staring in disbelief as Casey put his hand on the door knob. “Where … where are you going?”

Casey gave him the once over in that annoying way he had down pat. “Ever hear of self-medication, sport?” 

“Self – are you kidding me?” Chuck flopped back against the pillow, folding his arms over his chest. “What the hell has gotten –”

“Oh, and kid?”

Chuck glared at him, his mouth in a firm line. “Yeah? What now, Major?”

“When you’re done with that, wash your hands and get downstairs. Your old man’s here.” Casey let his eyes settle on him one more time. “He said he’s leaving.”

-x-

Chuck drew in a breath, looking down the staircase, adjusting his hand on the railing. In his gut, he knew it would come to this, but why did he have to leave already? The instant Casey had closed the door, leaving Chuck alone in their bedroom, the kid felt every ugly slice through his chest, left there and forgotten after the first time he lost his dad. So what if it had been years since he had fallen asleep curled up with his arms around his knees, a ball of damaged goods? It could still hurt like hell. 

Don’t. The word snapped out like a blade, and Chuck froze in the act of taking the first stair. His arms were rigid lean muscle as he braced himself. Don’t be an idiot, he thought. He’s not safe here. He has to leave.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Chuck dragged his hands down the side of his jeans, embarrassed that his palms had begun to sweat. “Dad?” The kid had to smile when he spotted his father standing off to the side of the sofa, trying not to stare at Casey’s gun case. “Dad …. Hey,” he repeated with a tiny awkward wave. “I’m … home.”

“Charles.” Stephen turned abruptly. His dad blinked at him and stepped closer, dropping a brown leather satchel. Then, after the good-bye pep talk Chuck had given himself, his dad had to change it up by doing the one thing he didn’t expect. 

His father, a man who had lived in isolation and without human contact, engulfed him in a rib-cracking hug, one that would put Ellie to shame. Chuck stiffened, startled at first, but his discomfort evaporated. He had his dad back, and everything in the world was right … for now.

“Hey, whoa, dad … I’m not going anywhere.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Casey standing to the side with his arms crossed, watching them carefully. “I … we’re not going anywhere.”

“I can’t trust that’s true … not until the Intersect is gone.” Stephen squeezed him tighter. “Damn them,” he heard his father say, his voice taking on a scratchy edge. “God damn them to hell for this.”

Okay, so his dad held a little bitterness. With the government. With the abandonment of his family. And now, finding out that deserting them didn’t do a lick of good. The kid understood it, really he did, but Chuck had decided months ago that he needed to wash the resentment down before it ate away at him. Maybe it was different for his dad – he had twelve years of it to swallow. 

Chuck gave him a smile that was hard to feel. “Dad … dad, really. Look at me.” He wriggled out of the embrace and moved back a step, wanting his father to see his face. “I’m okay. I told you before … I’m in good hands. I think you’ll both be stuck with me from now on.” The kid slanted a look at his lover to see if the message sunk in. “As long as you’re still here. But … Casey said you’re leaving. That’s not true, is it?”

“Charles, it was a risk staying here until now.” Stephen tried to return the smile, but it looked forced, out of place. “I had to ensure you were safe … but I need to get off the grid, son. Just for now, I promise.” He took hold of Chuck’s arm and shook it lightly. “Besides, when I get back to my lab … the Intersect testing is almost complete. We can finally get that thing out of your head.”

Chuck sent a furtive look towards Casey, who was still hanging back a few steps. He wrinkled his brow as he thought about it, and leaned on the arm of the sofa. “Sorry, dad,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “I … can’t.”

“What? You can’t? Why not?” 

“Listen, I –”

“Did he put you up to this?” Stephen tipped his head in Casey’s direction without looking at him. “Try to tell you that it was your civic responsibility to be the NSA’s lap dog? Charles, you don’t have to –”

“Sonovabitch,” Casey growled, unfolding his arms and closing the distance. “If you think I had anything to do with –”

Chuck scrambled to get between them, and when he did, his hands flew up in the air. “Stand down. Both of you,” he ordered. 

Orion and Casey had to settle for glaring at each other. His dad was the first to speak up. “Charles, your life doesn’t have to be like –”

“You.” Chuck pointed at his dad. “Casey had nothing to do with my decision, so an apology might be in order.”

“Humph.”

“And you.” Chuck swiveled his finger around to poke at his boyfriend’s chest. “Stop … stop making those growly sounds, because we all know what they mean and they’re not helping.”

Casey’s glare deepened. 

“Son, if he had nothing to do with this, then why?”

Chuck closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Okay, but you have to listen to me. I mean it,” he added for Casey’s benefit, since the agent was still wearing that pissed off expression of his. When there was no argument, the kid ran a hand over his unshaven face, wondering how the two mulish men had managed to work together the past ten days. “Yesterday, Beckman agreed – well, was kind of forced – to reinstate Casey, keep me out of a bunker, and let us come home. I know it … feels like we have the leverage here.”

“Feels like?” Stephen broke in. “You do, son. We can get the Intersect out of your head now.”

“But it’s not that simple anymore, dad.” Chuck glanced to the side. It was downright impossible to gauge Casey’s reaction, but his jaw did its tell-tale twitch. “The way I see it … the General has the same leverage over us. If this were a chess match, we’d be at a draw right now.” 

“What?” Stephen looked more rumpled and agitated by the second. “I don’t get it. I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

As for Casey, he sauntered in another step. Chuck couldn’t help but notice his forearms crossed over his chest seemed to suddenly bulge and stiffen like thick strands of rope. 

Oh. He gets it now, Chuck told himself.

“The only reason we’re here,” the kid explained, “and protected from a bunker or prison – or, let’s be honest here, whatever they want to do to us – is because I am the Intersect. Or, I have the Intersect – however you want to consider it.” He shrugged, inching closer to Casey. “But if the Intersect is gone … well, Casey committed treason by breaking me out of that place. And as for me? Do you really think Beckman is going to let me go back to a normal life, knowing that they could put it back and use me again?”

“But you have to do something, Charles.” Stephen began pacing back and forth, scrubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t just let them –”

“Let them, dad?” Chuck looked sidelong at Casey, who stayed quiet. His eyes said enough, though; the ache of letting go when they had the demon by the tail. “They wouldn’t give me a choice. They’d put me right back where I was, and this time, they would make sure there’s no chance Casey or anyone else could get me out of there.” He felt his heart speeding up, so he decided to end this now. “I’ve made my choice. A life here … with Casey, even as the Intersect, beats being stuffed in a bunker without him.”

“There has to be another way.” Orion touched one hand to his forehead in exasperation. “That can’t be the answer.”

“Seriously, dad, you should think about the –”

“The kid’s right,” a gruff voice cut in. 

“He’s right?” Next to him, Chuck heard his dad snort in disgust. “See? A government agent. I knew when it came down to you or them, he would –”

“I need both of you to shut the hell up and listen to me,” Casey said, glaring.

“Casey.” Chuck shook his head, just a bare movement, but the meaning was clear. ‘That’s my dad. Play nice’.

Casey squinted at him and huffed before turning back to Orion. “Respectfully, sir, shut up,” he remarked, raising a brow in the kid’s direction. ‘Happy now?’ the look said.

“Really, Casey?” Chuck hissed out the side of his mouth. “Wow. We do need to work on the whole toning down thi –”

“What is it, John,” Stephen interrupted, waving Chuck off. “I’m … listening.”

The agent’s gaze cut straight to Orion. “Put your emotions aside and think. No Intersect means your son – who happens to know highly classified information regarding a certain government project– is a liability. Do you know what the NSA does with liabilities?” He turned in Chuck’s direction, eyes sharp and direct. “They send someone like me to mitigate the risk. Don’t kid yourself. In this case, mitigation means two rounds to the back of the head. You can think whatever you want, but this time, he’s right.” 

Casey’s voice gave it away. His own bitterness that he had saved Chuck, only to put him back in the teeth of the trap. Another revelation that was going to whittle away at him under the surface.

“I’m good with … this, dad,” Chuck said quickly. Trying to ignore his aggravated look, he slid an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and dipped two fingers through a belt loop, keeping him there. “This is where I belong. If it means I get to be the government’s flashing plaything, then so be it. This is my choice.”

John Casey was not a consolation prize. How could he make both of them see that?

Orion looked them over and scooped up the satchel. “I know there’s no convincing you otherwise,” he said, resigned. “But … I’m going to continue the testing, and if things change–”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Casey’s face darkened to a dangerous, smoky depth.

“They won’t,” Chuck said, tightening his arm. “I mean, I’m not counting on it anymore, dad.”

“Then I have to go,” Stephen replied. “I can’t stay here … out in the open any longer.”

“What about … Ellie?” And me, he wanted to add, but it sounded selfish in his head.

His dad glanced towards the door and fumbled with handle of the satchel. “She knows how to get in touch with me. I promised her last night … when I said good-bye, that it wouldn’t be twelve years this time.”

“But … dad, I was hoping that you could –”

“You know I can’t.” Every line etched around his mouth and eyes deepened in a frown. “I’m still Orion. I’m still the man the government … or Fulcrum is looking for … and they won’t stop. If you need to reach me,” and he gave a fleeting look to Casey, “you’ve already figured out how to do that, son. You found Orion … and your father.”

Chuck choked down the lump that had spiked in his throat. “But, dad, you can’t just … leave like this.” He cringed. His words sounded childish, even to him. At that moment, the kid would’ve stepped in front of his dad, save for a strong arm that wrapped around his middle and flexed. Fingers dug into the flesh of his waist, keeping him close. 

“Listen, sport, –”

“Casey.” Chuck straightened, glowering at his boyfriend for using brute strength to hold him back. “Don’t.” 

Except Casey’s hold didn’t slacken. “Your dad’s right too, you know,” he murmured against his ear. “He has to go.” 

The clench of Casey’s body next to him relaxed with the warning, and releasing him, Chuck surged ahead to hug his dad one last time. 

No. Don’t think that way. It’s just for now.

It was all he could do, hold on a little longer, until Stephen Bartowski untangled himself from Chuck’s long arms, and held him away. The kid could feel him imprinting his face with a pair of sad eyes. “We’ll be in touch, Charles,” Orion said. “Take care of your sister.”

“Wait … wait.” Chuck felt his stomach twisting in a knot, knowing his dad would be walking out the door – his life – again in a heartbeat. He pushed his fingers through his hair and got a good look at the two most stubborn men on the planet. This was it, Chuck thought, squaring his shoulders. “There’s one more thing you’re going to do,” he said, nodding at both of them in case it wasn’t clear which you he was referring to. “You’re both important to me and you need to say good-bye to each other.”

“Good-bye,” Casey said succinctly, tipping his head towards the exit, then added under his breath, “Don’t let the door hit you in the –”

“Enough.” Chuck glared at his boyfriend. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t mean …. What I’m saying is that you’re going to hug my dad, Casey.”

“… the hell.” Casey discreetly slid his foot back a step. 

“That’s not … necessary, Charles.” Orion put up a palm flat in the air. “We can –”

“It is necessary.” Folding his arms over his chest, Chuck gave them a look equally as stubborn. “You worked together to get me out of there and get us back here safely. You’re going to have to learn to get along … because I don’t plan on ever letting go of either of you.” He met Casey’s eyes to ensure he caught the significance of his words. “Do it.”

“Listen to your old man for once,” Casey said. 

“Charles, I –”

“Okay. Fine. You want to be that way?” With a smug look, Chuck turned to Casey. “Dad’s not leaving until you do it, so if you want to get rid of him? You have to hug him.” He then lowered his voice, and said, “For me.”

Casey narrowed his eyes and bit on his lip, a mountain of muscled obstinance.

“Charles, you’ve made your point. I know he’s one of them –”

“Dad, –”

“Let me finish. And he doesn’t fully trust me either … because of who I am.”

The agent gave a mild grunt of agreement at that.

“But obviously, he’s … a bit more than that to you.” Stephen rearranged the front of his sweater to fend off the smile blooming on his son’s face. “Fine … maybe we need to learn to get along.”

“And hug,” Chuck corrected. “By that, I mean now.” He hooked a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, and Casey let the kid propel him forward until the two stood toe-to-toe. “Say good-bye – I mean, see you later – properly.”

“Let’s get this over with, eh?” Casey grumbled, stretching to his full height, as if trying to assert his position by looming over his dad. “He won’t stop until we do … it.”

“We can agree on that,” Stephen replied.

Chuck stood off to the side, beaming a lop-sided grin of satisfaction, while he watched the two men he loved the most locked in an embrace. 

-x-

He had to do it now, with the kid watching over them like a damn hawk.

One step in, and Casey was forcibly entrenched in Orion’s personal bubble. Or as he thought about it, behind enemy lines. There was no going back – no retreat – so Casey slid an arm over the shorter man’s shoulder, and hesitating, he patted it stiffly. “There,” he said. 

At first, Stephen Bartowski froze, but his son’s happiness won out. He raised one arm– gingerly, very gingerly – and wrapped it around Casey’s broad back. Leaning in and up, Orion returned the stiff hug. 

This meant Casey had no problem hearing what Stephen Bartowski then whispered into his ear. “You hurt my son, and I come back here and kick your fucking ass.”

Casey tightened his hold, and subtly repositioning, he then lowered his lips to Orion’s ear. “I’d like to see you try, old man,” he breathed in reply. 

When the hug ended swiftly, Casey looked at Chuck with a ‘you owe me for this’ scowl. 

The blazing grin – the nuclear one – was pointed at both of them. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” Chuck observed. “You know what? I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Casey felt a nudge to his ribs. “Yeah,” he said, with Orion a ragged half step behind him in the chorus. “I’m sure … it is.” 

-x-

Ten minutes later, he stood at the threshold.

“This is ‘see you later’, Charles. Not good-bye.”

“I know, dad.” 

Besides, it had to be truth. How much more disappoint should … Ellie have to take?

It was awkward. His dad extended his hand, and Chuck took it in what he hoped was a ‘see you later’ handshake. Nodding at him, Stephen turned to Casey, and after a bout of reluctance, he put out his hand. Casey lowered his eyes at first, studying the open palm. After an interminable pause, a large hand took his father’s in a tight clasp, then dropped to his side.

After years of hurt, Chuck knew he wasn’t a cry baby, and Casey certainly would kick his ass if he caught so much as a sniff. So the kid put on a tight smile and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His fists, fingers biting into the flesh of his hands, were hidden that way. 

Casey was right there, standing tall next to him, not saying a word. 

-x-

The day his dad left was quiet after that. It gave him time to think. To wonder how his relationship with his boyfriend would change now that he was running scared – though he’s never admit it – and what could stay the same.

Chuck stood at the kitchen sink and peeked out the window before grabbing one of the dirty plates. The dinner dishes and kitchen clean-up was relatively light tonight, not that the kid could complain. Reflecting back, it was only three days into their new living arrangement – the sometimes ungraceful days of field testing each other’s idiosyncrasies, tied with nights of urgently and clumsily exploring the newly available equipment – before it became obvious who would be the chef and who would be washing pots and pans until further notice.

The kid stopped to rinse out the sponge, his mind tickling him with that night five months ago. It wasn’t his fault. Usually Ellie’s chicken francese with garlic turned out better than that – and of course, she wasn’t there to answer questions when the recipe got smudged by the egg wash. How was he supposed to know it said ‘flatten and sear?’ 

The division of labor, nonetheless, seemed to work out for the best. Chuck knew how to load a dishwasher, and Casey actually could find his way around the kitchen. Better than that. After tasting his barbequed short ribs the third night, the kid wanted to get down on his knees and thank the gods of Food Network and Bon Appetite that he wasn’t going to starve or be forced to eat take-out the rest of this life. 

From the beginning, the food kept him satisfied. The sudden accessibility of a warm, muscled body kept him hungry.

The memory of that night swamped him, a slow heat crawling like warm fingers up his neck and cheeks, because he did get down on his knees for a whole other reason that night. And it amazed him, even the first week together, that it was so easy for Casey to silently coax him to remove his inhibitions.

-x-

Once the last pan was toweled off and put away, Chuck turned off the lights in the kitchen and wandered into the living room. “Casey?” But the couch was empty, the TV was off, and by all indications, Chuck had already misplaced his sizable new … boyfriend. 

See? After five whole days, he could say it now. Boyfriend. That was progress, at least. 

What was protocol here, anyway? Should he watch TV for awhile and wait for Casey to come down? Did his new boyfriend need some alone time, or did he expect Chuck to follow him up there and …?

Chuck fumbled with the remote control for a few seconds, glancing over his shoulder towards the staircase. Okay, this bordered on ridiculous, he told himself as he climbed on the first step. He was almost a quasi-spy – he should be able to figure out by looking at him if Casey wanted him upstairs or not.

“Casey? Are you up here?” Rounding the corner to Casey’s bedroom – it didn’t quite feel like theirs yet – his line of sight was filled with Casey standing tall and naked next to the dresser. “Oh.”

Chuck tried not to blink like an idiot. But he wasn’t used to it yet, either, seeing him so thoughtlessly on display like that. 

“If you don’t close it,” Casey said, slipping off his watch without looking up, “you might catch a fly or two, eh?”

“A what – oh. Hah.” Chuck wet his lips self-consciously, and then rocked back on his heels. “TV. That’s what I … I mean, do you want to watch a movie, or, uh, something …?” Not knowing how to finish that, he let his voice trail off.

“Or something? Yeah …” Casey lifted his gaze to survey him, still standing awkwardly in the doorway, and gave him a small smirk. “You gonna stay there, just like that?”

“Who, me?” Chuck wanted to groan at how stupid that sounded. “What I meant to say was –” 

“C’mere.” Casey rolled his eyes and crossed the room, snatching his wrist and pulling until Chuck felt his hip brush Casey’s. He leaned in close, warm lips grazing the outer edge of his ear. “Jesus, kid. Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

The strong hold of his wrist reminded him of something. Being pressed up against a very naked Casey was equal parts hot … and damn scary at the same time. 

“I – I don’t really –”

“Shut it.” Casey steered his face around, skimming his mouth over his cheek, hot and moist. His palm fell to the curve of Chuck’s ass, and he pressed his lips to his in a heated slow swim of a kiss. When Chuck moaned instinctively – and turned beet red – Casey smiled against his skin, then drew his mouth along his collarbone and up against his ear. “Yeah … like that? Why don’t I ... tell you what you want?”

A hard shiver went through the kid – no one had ever said anything like that to him before. Casey touched his jaw, his thumb on the corner of his mouth. Another filthy kiss swept him under, making him hold on to keep his balance. Fingers curved around the back of his neck, fisting a handful of his hair. 

Okay, it was official. This was way better than watching TV. 

Breathing hard through his nose, Chuck began to shuffle towards the bed, not breaking the kiss. But a firm hand dropped to his waist, stopping him. “Hmm?” he mumbled to Casey’s lips. “What?”

“Not yet,” Casey growled into Chuck’s mouth. In reply to the kid’s questioning look, he kissed him again. “My idea’s better.”

“Yeah? So, do you – oh.” Not waiting for the rest to stumble out, Casey used the grip to steer him down, gently but firmly. The next thing Chuck felt when his brain was taking signals again was his knees sinking to the floor. “Oh. You mean … that.”

“Yeah … want that, kid?” He had a way of making it sound like begging and an order, mingled with heat.

Did he want it? Closing his eyes, he inhaled the raw scent, heavier, and now his own arousal flooded him.

That would be a yes.

“Why don’t you … Bartowski,” Casey said, barely audible over his head. Long fingers carded through his hair, stroked the side of his face. “…. want me to … fuck your mouth?” 

“Um, wow.” Chuck coughed, trying to focus on something else. Impossible because that perfect curve was right there. “The direct approach. Not … not that I’m surprised, it’s just –”

“Still thinking?” 

Five minutes ago he didn’t even know that that was he wanted. But he did. “Thinking … in cases like this, might be overrated,” he said quietly. Taking in a breath, he exhaled over the surface, letting the warmth brush over him. Then, Chuck opened his mouth. Tasting, letting his tongue form loops over the smooth rounded surface … and above him, words that made sparks explode in his lower belly … Casey telling him it felt so goddamn good to have him down there, here … telling him what he do would next, what Chuck wanted.…

“Bartowski.” 

“Oh, crap.” The plate he was holding slipped out of his hand, clattering against the side of the sink. Recovering from the sneak attack from behind – boy, that sounded wrong in his head – Chuck spun around to face his boyfriend. How did he do that?! The last time he had peered out the window, Casey was standing on the back patio finishing his beer, shutting down the outdoor grill and enjoying the cool evening air.

“What’s that look on your face?” Casey asked.

“N-nothing. Why?”

Casey shrugged, settling back against the counter. “Incoming bogie at three o’clock. Get your game face on.”

“English?”

That earned him an eye roll. “Your sister is crossing the courtyard and will be at the door in ten seconds.” 

“Ellie?”

“No, your other sister.”

“Huh. Lucky me.” Chuck rolled his eyes right back at him and attempted to squeeze past, heading for the door. “So much fuzzy warmth in a big package.” 

“Wait.” Before he could get too far, Casey snatched his arm.

“What’s –”

“Hold still, will ya?” His fingers curled around his bicep, not giving him a choice. Casey tilted his head, scanning the kid with those brilliant blue eyes. “Jesus.”

Chuck tensed. “Is there … something –”

“This.” Casey’s other hand came up to hastily brush his curls over his forehead and temple. “Don’t need your sister asking about that,” he muttered, pointing his chin at the purple bruise. “Keep it under wraps.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Ugly bruises plus Ellie equals freak out.” Pulling his head back, Chuck swatted Casey’s hand away and smoothed his shirt. “You do know, she’s going to think my hair looks geeky like this,” he said, catching the reflection in the microwave. 

“Heh,” Casey replied. 

“Funny. Exactly why I didn’t word it as a question.” Right on cue, there was tapping at the door. Chuck turned his attention across the living room. “But yes, point. Do you think I want Ellie knowing about any of this?” 

“She doesn’t like to wait, either.”

“Point, again,” Chuck said with a smile. “Are you coming?”

“You first. I’m keeping a ten yard perimeter on this one.” Casey turned to the sink and began rinsing his grilling utensils. “One Bartowski family member hug in a day is my absolute pain threshold.”

“I didn’t realize the Major had a pain threshold,” Chuck replied. He pivoted around to get to the door – and felt a firm smack on his ass. “Hey!” he sputtered, ducking out of the way. “Watch the hands!”

“How’s that for a pain threshold?”

Chuck rubbed his backside as he crossed the living room, pretending to be peeved. The truth was he took it as a sign that whatever stick Casey had up his ass for the past twenty-four hours, he seemed to be flirting by way of tapping the merchandise – and as of late, flirting was hard to come by. 

That made Chuck smile. Yeah. He could remind Casey later that there was an ample supply of merchandise that he could tap …

… Why was he thinking this now?! Ellie had an uncanny ability to almost read his mind, for God sakes! She’ll know if he’s thinking about sex. 

So not thinking about sex, he clenched his fists a few times, plastered on his most brilliant smile, and swung the door wide. 

“Hey, sis.”

Standing at the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, was Ellie Bartowski. She grinned at him, nearly bouncing on her feet. “My baby brother!” At the sound, Chuck was certain every small dog in a two block radius had raised its hackles. “I missed you! We never talked once for ten whole days? I got your texts though.”

Texts? Oh, yeah. Those texts. The ones dad sent to cover up the incident. “Uh, well, that’s –”

“Casey said you were sleeping when we got home last night, so I didn’t want to – oh, come here.” Ellie launched herself at him, and wrapping her arms over his shoulders, she squeezed him tight. “How was Santa Barbara? It sounds like, well, I was hoping … did you work things out? I know right before the wedding, that it was a little … unpleasant with the timing of the Casey’s military training –”

“Ellie, Ellie, whoa,” Chuck gasped, feeling like the air inside his chest was being vacuumed out by a giant hose. “If you want me to answer – or ever breathe again for that matter – you have to please loosen up a little –”

“Oh! Sorry … so sorry, Chuck.” Holding his arms, she stepped back and studied his face for a minute. “After being gone so long, I missed that smile, little brother.” It took him by surprise when her hand came up to touch his hair. “You need a haircut. It’s doing … well, circus acts up there.”

Reflexively, Chuck jerked his head back. Ellie could not see the bruise. No way. “Forget about me, Ellie. I want to hear about Fiji. Well, not everything – seriously, you can spare me some of the details – but –”

“Perfect. Tomorrow night, dinner at our house. We’ll have a screening of the honeymoon video.”

“Oh. That sounds … just great, El.” Chuck strained his ears, confirming that he heard footsteps behind him. Of course, Casey had to be hearing all of this – and, let’s face it, honeymoon videos on the couch when he was already ticked-off as hell was probably not the best laid plan. 

“So, you’ll be there?” She flashed a smile.

“I’ll have to … sure, sis. Let me talk to Casey, and we’ll –”

“Can’t make it,” Chuck heard over his shoulder. 

“What?” Ellie’s eyes flicked past him to Casey, who was now filling the doorway behind him. “Oh. Hi … John.”

Chuck didn’t dare look away from her baffled expression, though he wanted to give Casey the death glare. Seriously? What would make him want to screw this up in front of Ellie? If she got even a whiff that something was wrong, well, Couples Group Therapy at the community center would be the least of their worries. 

In Chuck’s somewhat limited relationship experience, he was fairly certain this was the part where Casey was supposed to go along with it for the greater good. “Like I said, Ellie,” Chuck stammered, “I need to talk to John about –”

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday.” Casey shouldered the door to the side and folded his arms over his chest. “That’s the night I go out with my Marine buddies. Non-negotiable.”

“I … see,” Ellie drawled in a way that clearly said she didn’t see it at all. A silent whorl of confusing emotions crossed her face. “Well … tonight then,” she nodded, her smile becoming strained. “I’ll make popcorn, and we can get caught up –”

“Can’t,” Casey broke in flatly.

Ellie’s head snapped to the side, staring past Chuck’s shoulder. “Why not?”she asked.

Chuck bumped Casey with his elbow. “Uh, John, maybe you meant –”

“I meant I can’t because I’m going out.” Casey fished his keys out of his pocket and twirled them once on his finger, giving Chuck a dismissive look. “You. Be good.”

Chuck raised his eyebrows, skipping past the patronizing order, and going straight to the part where Casey ditched them. “Out?” he asked, keeping his voice level for Ellie’s sake. “And when will you be home?”

“Later,” Casey replied, shouldering past him. Tipping his head at Ellie one time, he trudged through the courtyard and disappeared around the stone arch that led to the carport. 

Out? What the hell, Casey. Chuck couldn’t move at all, he could only stare at his back. Something told him that this was not what Beckman meant by being a bodyguard. Okay, to be fair, if he knew Casey, there were a thousand security measures to keep him safe while he was at home alone tonight, but to just leave him like that was … unprofessional.

Unprofessional? Who cares about that? He’s being an asshole of a boyfriend, that’s what. 

To top it off, Ellie just had a ringside seat to the ‘my lover can be a Real Dickhead sometimes’ show. 

Oh, no. 

Since he was still looking past the fountain, he didn’t see Ellie fold her arms over her t-shirt and plant herself in his path until it was too late. “So, what are you hiding from me?” She snapped her fingers in his face to get him to look down at her. “What the hell is up with your big bear, hmm?” 

His options were limited. Fleeing was out of the question. He was briefly tempted to deploy The Morgan just to deflect the look in her eyes. But figuring it was time to man-up, Chuck stood tall and smiled. Or at least he hoped the wince looked like a smile. “Uh … nothing?”

“Nothing? He … he just left, without saying a word! Doesn’t that –” His sister’s phone began to chirp. Ellie rolled her eyes and pulled it out of her pocket, scanning the view-screen. “That’s the hospital. I have to go.”

It took every bit of willpower he had not to look completely relieved. “Really? Well, maybe we can –”

“No maybes about it, little brother,” she warned, poking his chest again. “We will finish this.”

-x-

Chuck let out a long breath. The apartment was eerily quiet. There was a time in his life when he would’ve welcomed the solitude, happily frittering away hours at his computer while he scoured his favorite blogs. Maybe work on the design of a game he had dreamed up. 

But now, he had a hot boyfriend who left him alone … and it sucked. 

Chuck moved a stack of post-it notes and nudged the keyboard into position, staring at the flashing cursor on his screen.

Boring.

If he wasn’t Chuck Bartowski, a heavily protected top secret asset for the US Government, he would have his own blog. Because after a crappy week like this one, he needed a way to vent. And not just the sham of a Facebook account , where he was sure his entries were being reviewed and cleansed before posting. 

While they were at it, could they get their facts straight? Was he really the type of person who would post a picture of a big cat with its head stuck in a jar? 

A few months ago, he decided to test the government security, just to see how effective their filters were. Really, that was the only reason.

‘Intersect ID’d Jaber A. Elbaneh today. Who knew a guy with a cleft chin buying a printer cartridge and Coldplay’s latest CD was an explosives expert for the EIJ?

You’re welcome.’

A few minutes later, his status had been updated to ‘Hitting the sack early. The store felt like a bunker today’. 

He took it as a strong hint, and left it at that.

The rules were clear. Anything that would draw attention to Beckman’s precious Human Intersect was verboten. Blogging would get him shoved underground faster than he could say who’s your mother board. 

If only. Chuck examined the blank screen and rested his chin on his hand. “My bio? In one hundred and sixty characters or less?” He smiled at the inane challenge to break down one human’s existence into a delimited text field of tiny proportions.

Bio.

During school, it always helped to crack his knuckles before he started. It seemed to stimulate his brain waves. So, he did it, and then lowered his eyes to the yellow sticky note hanging on his monitor. “Okay. That qualifies.” It wasn’t complicated or weird, nor did it state the fact that he had his very own handler slash assassin slash lover. Which probably made him unique, and therefore would be the type of information to put in a damn bio in the first place.

Instead, he settled on something decidedly less glamorous.

‘I’m a professional nerd.’ 

07 May 2008 Wednesday

‘Back home after a –‘ His fingers paused over the keys. ‘cross country adventure of Griswald proportions’. Casey went out with his ‘Marine buddies’ – I’m sure they’re tough, they swear, they smoke – and I wonder who they are. 

Maybe they go out to Sequoia Canyon and shoot targets with night vision goggles. Go to O’Malley’s afterwards for a cigar and scotch. He never says.

So the funny thing is … he doesn’t talk about me to them either, I bet.

06 May 2008 Thursday

Frustrated. It’s like Operation Seduction all over again. (Note: do a change all next week to Operation Forgiveness in case E ever finds this. Or worse yet, C.) 

C made it abundantly clear that the patchouli candles and the jazz fusion mix was a complete bust, but did he have to be such a big dick about it? Because, seriously, blowing out the candles and sleeping on the couch due to the ‘stench in the bedroom’ was a bit ‘drama queen’ for an officer in the freaking Marines – don’t you think, Casey? (Note: delete this off the hard drive next week). 

C had to get up early and meet with GB at Castle for official reinstatement in the government biz.

Now, for sure, they’re talking about me.

07 May 2008 Friday

E and D worked night shift, so no family dinner or honeymoon video. Avoiding E is almost impossible. She knows something is wrong – and C is not helping. Surprise blitz this morning on the way to the car, but we were late for work already. Not a lie either. (And not for a good reason). 

Who knew C had a dislike for sizzling shrimp? (Or that shrimp could be overcooked?) Or is he just being … afraid? (Note: empty recycle bin after deleting file).

After making a PBJ, C took up entire couch by stretching out – like I wouldn’t notice that? – and fell asleep watching hockey basketball whatever. 

08 May 2008 Saturday.

Forced to take extreme measures. Took a shower after work, went downstairs wearing low jeans C seems to like. Only that. Did the ‘wet hair shake’ thing that also seems to get his attention. (Note: encryption on desktop?) The ‘sprawl out on sofa but leave enough room to sit between my legs’ move did NOTHING. 

Shot down before I could get to the *you know* move that really gets his attention.

Strike that. C made big show of looking at me – and asked if I wanted hand weights for my birthday,

Then shot down.

09 May 2008 Sunday.

C made an excuse to vanish all morning – something about Miguel’s Quality Previously Owned Car Lot. (Could he put more effort in coming up with excuses?) Came home driving the Vic and no sign of McClure’s SUV. Had the close shift at the Buy More today. When we got back to the apartment, C went upstairs to take a shower. Alone. So, last ditch effort, I offered to scrub his back with the loofah. Told him I was a master at anything on a big stick, really.

Okay, no points for obvious ploy to get him naked and wet, but DESPERATE HERE. 

C opened the damn cupboard – brought out toilet brush. Told me if I felt like scrubbing something, the bowl in the half bath downstairs needed a good swish.

Still not talking to him.

On Sunday evening, smack dab in the middle of Modern Warfare – because Casey was at Castle monitoring the team that was restocking the armory, or so he said – his game controller died in his hands. Just great. The batteries were toast. 

Grudgingly, Chuck got off the couch and searched the kitchen drawers where Casey kept his spares. Of course, with the whole ‘rescuing Chuck from a bunker’ situation, no one had been to the store to get necessities. 

“Okay… maybe Ellie’s not home,” Chuck said, taking the dead ones out and tossing them in the recycle bin. He indulged in a moment of self-loathing for the cowardly tactic of avoiding her, but … he needed a few more days to come up with an explanation. Nothing seemed to fit yet, and he didn’t have the stomach to keep lying to her. 

Grabbing his keys, he crossed the courtyard and knocked on Ellie’s door. It was quiet. Well, the locks were the same, and Chuck had hung onto the keys to the apartment, so what was the big deal? 

Still, it was a hard thing to do. It made him feel a little creepy. Chuck looked over his shoulder one time before unlocking the door. “Hello?” He tipped his head, listening for any rustling sounds. More silence. “Alrighty,” the kid huffed, making up his mind to go in. It wasn’t really breaking and entering when it was his sister’s, he told himself. And once he found some batteries to borrow, he’d leave a note to Ellie to let her know – and get the hell out of there before she would have a chance to commence The Inquisition. 

“Here we go … batteries … batteries … where are they?” Chuck pursed his lips, pawing through the kitchen drawer. “Do you still keep them in –”

“Chuck?” a feminine voice inquired from the kitchen doorway.

“Gah!” The batteries went flying out of his hand, scattering when they hit the floor. Chuck whirled towards the intruder. 

Wait. This time, he was the intruder. 

Ellie just stared at him, waiting.

Forgetting the batteries, Chuck looked at her and swallowed hard. “What … what are you… well, I shouldn’t be the one asking that, because obviously you’re at home and I’m the one that’s – I was just …. Geez, did you have to sneak up on me like that?”

Eleanor Faye Bartowski took her time inspecting him from head to toe, tapping her fingers against her arm as she strolled in for the kill. “Chuck …. What are you doing?” 

“Uh, hi?” Chuck blinked at her and backed up a step. “I was just running in to borrow – and you know what? Boy, look at the time.” Realizing too late that he had left his watch at home, he looked up from his bare wrist sheepishly. “Well, I’ve gotta run, so –”

Her hand came out like a whip and latched onto his arm, snagging it before he could make a break for the door.

“You. Couch. Now, buster,” she ordered, dragging him to the sofa. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. It’s my turn.” 

“Y-your turn?”

“Sit.” Steering him down, Ellie put her hands on her hips and raised her chin, defiance smoking off of her like a brush fire. The look dared him to move, because this version of his sister was not going to accept any bullshit. “That’s right, little brother. So,” she said, “what’s going on between you and Casey?”

Oh, hell. 

When Casey listened in to the surveillance later tonight, he was really going to hate this part.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Thirteen-x-


	20. Chapter Fourteen

Casey vs. the Way Back

(Chapter Fourteen)

-x-

“Ellie, please.” Chuck tucked his hands in his pockets, along with the batteries he had scooped up off her tile floor. “Is this about borrowing without permission, because, I promise I’ll – oh.” As soon as he read her expression, he began creeping backwards. “Really, I’d love to stick around, sis. But… but you see, I sort of made plans with Morgan – a Halo tournament? And I’d hate to –”

“Sit down,” Ellie said, her voice lined with ice. She put her hands on her hips in the old standby move that told him arguing would get him exactly nowhere. “It’s Halo with Morgan – it’s not like you’re off to save the world or something. You can skip it this one time.”

“Skip it?” Chuck put on a look of mock insult and held up two fingers. “First, bite your tongue. Second, I made these plans long before –”

“Hey, Chuckster. I didn’t hear you come in.” Devon sauntered around the corner to the kitchen, wearing only skin tight bike shorts with a rainbow pattern across the hips and a fair amount of body sweat. “Where have you been hiding all week?”

“My point exactly,” Ellie insisted.

“Oh. I, uh … didn’t realize ….” Chuck suddenly became interested in the potted herbs on the windowsill, anything to avoid uncomfortable eye contact with his half naked brother-in-law. Discreetly, his foot slid back another step. “You know what? I’m interrupting here. You two should have some ‘us-time’ to do, well, newlywed things – not that I’m suggesting – I mean things that don’t involve –”

“Don’t even think about taking another step for that door,” Ellie warned, taking a step to fill the distance. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do. And it only makes me more concerned that you won’t talk to me.”

“But I –”

Before he could protest, she made a grab for his arm and steered him to the edge of the sofa. “Chuck, sit.” 

“Ellie, –” He tried to dislodge his forearm from her grip, but damn. He almost forgot how strong she was when she set her mind to it. 

“Enough of this, okay? Something is going on with you. I can tell – and I know it has to do with Casey. Now take a seat.” 

It was her big sister voice. The patient and kind version of his sister had left the stage, replaced by Brimstone and Fire Ellie.

The version that could still scare the shit out of him when she felt she needed to.

“Casey?” Chuck grinned, feigning innocence. “Seriously, sis, it’s not …. This has nothing to do with – gah.”

Ellie gave him a small shove that sent his butt to the seat, a little harder than necessary, he thought. Now that he was cornered, she plopped on the other end of the couch and arched a brow at him. “Talk.”

Telling himself not to panic, Chuck glanced at the door. “Uh, there’s really nothing to say. Honestly I don’t –”

“You’re doing it.” Ellie nodded towards his lap. “It’s always the same.”

“Wh-what?” 

“That,” she replied. “Pulling on your fingers? You’ve had that nervous habit since t-ball – after the … incident –”

“Which shall never be repeated, I’ll remind you –”

“– and I can see right through it. You’re hiding something.”

“Ellie, there’s nothing –”

“Is that the way it’s going to be, little brother?” She leaned back, apparently settling in for the long haul. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about Casey? Let’s talk about the incident of ‘91 – Devon, honey, have you ever heard this story?” 

“You wouldn’t. You promised, sis.”

Ellie’s look became predatory. “Who knew that a boy-sized tiny joc –”

“Please stop.”

“Could become a trajectory when he –”

“Ellie, this is blackmail –”

“– misses the ball at such a high velocity. It was a good thing the coach had fast reflexes, or –”

“Okay! I’ll talk!” Chuck stared, horror-stricken that she could still manipulate him in less than sixty seconds. “Wait! Did I just agree to –”

“About Casey, then,” she said, self-contented that she had not lost the magic touch. “I just want to help, Chuck. I’m still your big sister.”

Chuck shook his head, waiting for a flash of brilliance that wasn’t coming. Fuck it. Whatever she was thinking, he had to diffuse it somehow. He would just have to do it in as few words as possible.

“Well, in some kind of off-the-wall way, this might just pertain to Casey,” Chuck said, proud that he sounded casual. “But only if you look at it … you know, just a little –”

“I knew it.” Ellie glimpsed over her shoulder towards the kitchen where her husband was pouring a glass of milk. “Devon?”

“I’m on it, babe. Red or white?”

“Pinot Noir?” she answered coolly without taking her eyes off Chuck. “If we have it.”

“Bro?” Devon poked his head around the cupboard door as he pulled out a wine goblet. “What can I get you?”

Chuck’s head was spinning. How did this happen?! He was supposed to be in and out with double A batteries for the controller. Not pinned down like a freaking crime suspect and dragged into an interrogation cell! 

“Um … get what?”

“Chuckster?” Devon held up a beer bottle and waggled it back and forth. “Need a cold one?”

“Oh.” Chuck blinked. “That’s not … necessary,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll be –”

“Dude.” The Captain twisted off the cap, releasing it with a pop and a fizz. “I’ve seen her like this. Trust me. You’re going to need it. She’s a Rottweiler when it comes to –”

“Sweetie.” Ellie stared until he shut up. When he did, she tucked one leg under her and looked at Chuck with an expression that dared him to defy her. “Spill. What happened with Casey?”

Don’t be a complete pussy. Tell her just enough to back off.

But first. “Devon?” Chuck glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “A drink?”

“You change your mind?” Devon held up the bottle. 

With a sidelong look, Chuck could see the wheels working in Ellie’s head as she stared at him. It solidified his decision. “Three finger pour of Johnny Walker Black, no ice, straight up?” he asked. “If you have it?”

“Whoa.” Devon nodded sagely. “I’m on it, bro. I think your dad had some of the hard stuff he left behind when he – never mind, I’ll get it.”

Ellie kept her eyes locked on Chuck as Devon left the kitchen to retrieve the scotch. “No more stalling,” she said. “What is going on with Casey? I mean, you guys have been acting weird ever since the week before the wedding … when he had to leave for military training and you freaked out that your boyfriend wouldn’t be back in time?”

“To be fair, that was not freaking out.” Chuck shrugged at her. “I was worried about you being disappointed, that’s all.”

“No, it’s way more than that.”

“Ellie, I know this doesn’t make sense to you.” He faltered, hating himself for having to lie to her like this. “You’re going to jump in and think you can help in some way, and I do love your for that, sis.” 

“Is this where you tell me to butt out?”

Lowering his head, Chuck pushed his hands through his curls. “But really, it’s nothing that we can’t work out on our –”

“Son of a bitch.”

“What did you …. Sis?” Chuck turned to look at her, confused. Maybe she broke a nail on her wine glass, or just noticed a stain on one of the couch pillows. “Is there something … wrong?”

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed, as if choking on her own voice. Strangely, instead of focusing on the object of her ire – whatever that was – her eyes were fastened on his face. Or more specifically, just to the right of his eyes. At his temple. 

His temple? 

“Oh … no.” Chuck felt his stomach bottom out. Like a dummy, he realized too late that dragging his fingers through his hair revealed the angry-looking purple bruise like a beacon. So what if it had tints of green now that it was starting to heal? Something told him his slightly overprotective sister wouldn’t quite see it in a positive light. “Ellie.” Chuck raised his hand in a calming motion. “I can explain.”

“Did … he do that to you?”

“Who? Wait. Do you mean Casey? No! God, no! It’s not what you’re thinking. Casey would never –”

“Oh, my God,” Ellie breathed. In a heartbeat, she surged off the sofa and stalked to the door. “I don’t care how big he is … I’m going to kick his ever-loving ass into pavement for –”

“Ellie, listen to me!” His heart suddenly jack hammering, Chuck lurched off of the sofa and scrambled onto her heels. “Casey did not do this to me!”

“Slow down, babe.” Hearing the commotion and witnessing his bride snorting fire, Devon rounded the counter to join Chuck behind her. “Do what?” 

“That!” She pointed at Chuck’s head. “Look at him.”

“What is – oh. Oh, that ….” Devon exchanged a look between the siblings, his doctor instincts kicking in. “Hold on, bro.” A firm hand on Chuck’s shoulder turned him to the side while the Captain laid tentative fingers along his jaw. “Did you get that examined? Because it looks nasty. Could’ve been a concussion.” 

“I’m okay, Devon. Thanks. It was just –”

“A concussion.” Ellie made an uncharacteristically growly noise in her chest and spun towards the door. “Which is why John Casey’s head will be on pitchfork when I get back. Devon, do we keep any spare surgical scalpels in the knife drawer?”

“Babe, I think it’s awesome that you want to go to bat for your little bro here, but you might want to –”

“Ellie, you have to listen to me.” Though he had no idea what to say. Honestly, he wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to just start babbling and shoving lies aside and finally tell her that is was Casey who saved him. 

But she was reaching for the knob, and if there was a pitchfork handy, Chuck was certain that when she returned, his boyfriend’s head would be skewered on the tines and propped up next to the door. 

Desperate – he had never stopped her before when her claws were extended – Chuck drew in a breath. He needed to talk fast.

“Sis, whatever you’re thinking right now, it is not what happened – please, you have to believe me – and you’ll only make things worse.” Chuck flattened his back against the door and dug his heels in. “Besides,” he said, “unless you keep a supply of farm implements handy when the urge to spread compost strikes, where can you get a pitchfork in LA?” 

“Are you trying to be funny so I won’t kick your boyfriend’s ass?”

His expression became pained. “That obvious, huh?”

Ellie frowned. “How can you just stand there and try to make jokes, Chuck? It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out! The fight … the bruise. Now get out of my way.”

“El, take a breath, okay?” Chuck put on his best placating mask for his sister. “If you would just hold off on kicking my boyfriend’s ass, I can explain everything. Seriously. The truth.”

He felt an inward wince. The truth? What the hell was he going to say? 

Ellie gazed at him, expression unwavering. Deliberately, she stood up on her tip toes, meeting him eye-to-eye, studying ever muscle twitch. “You have thirty seconds, or so help me little brother, the head on a stick option will be exploited to its full extent.”

“Santa Barbara,” Chuck busted out without thinking. “It happened when we were on our getaway.”

His cheeks burned. Okay, well, the getaway part was true at least. 

“I’m … listening.” Ellie’s jaw stiffened when she caught sight of the bruise one more time. “Tell me how it happened.”

One of the batteries found its way into his hand, and he began rolling it between his fingers. “Casey … took me … uh, golfing. That’s it. He thought I should learn something besides playing with my Wii.”

“But, you don’t even have a Wii, do you?”

Chuck had to smile. “See, that’s why I love you, sis. You are correct. I do not own a Wii. I think Casey likes to lump all of my electronics into one easy reference, so he –”

“Chuck. The bruise?”

“Right. The golf game.” Hurriedly, he stuffed the battery back into his pocket. “Well, you see, we were standing in the … where you hit the ball –”

“The tee box,” Devon interjected, crossing his arms to mirror Ellie’s stance. 

“Yes. Thank you, Devon, the tee box.” He saw skepticism cross their faces, so he sped up. “I was getting ready to – use the club with the big – uh – plastic-y thing –” His hands formed a ball while he made a swooping motion. “It’s about this –”

“The driver?”

“Uh, okay, the driver. Anyway, on the other side of the trees, there was a group hitting in the other …?”

“Fairway?”

“Wow.” Chuck squinted at his brother-in-law. “You’re really good at this.”

“Look, Chuck,” Ellie grit out. “Get on with the story … unless you want to see your boyfriend tossed off the Santa Monica Pier with cement shoes.” 

“Cement shoes? Kinda cliché, hmm, sis?” Chuck laughed nervously until he saw her lips tighten. “No humor. Got it. So here it is: I was getting ready to swing the driver… and I heard someone yell fore.”

“You got hit with a golf ball?” Ellie goggled at him and her hand came up to rest by her throat. “And you didn’t move or duck? What is wrong with you?!”

“Funny.” Chuck tilted his head as he thought about it. “Those were Casey’s exact words, too.”

“Chuck, you didn’t –!”

“I thought it was a countdown!” Chuck fired back, shifting his eyes to Devon for moral support. 

The Captain simply raised a brow at him. “Whoa. You need to get out in the fresh air a bit more, Chuckster.”

“Thanks … Devon.” Chuck lifted his hands and turned to his sister. “I didn’t know, Ellie. Before I could move or even think, I was on the ground … and there were people apologizing – oh, and a medic! Because, of course, Casey called in a medic to look at me, and she said I was fine.” He grinned for her benefit while pointing to his forehead. “See? Half-rock, Ellie. You always said how dense I can be sometimes.” 

“Well, that much is true.” Ellie composed her face, eyeing him scrupulously. “Okay, I … guess I believe you.” Though she still sounded reluctant. “Now, back to the sofa.”

“But I thought we were … done?”

Her look told him that feet dragging wouldn’t do a lick of good. “Not even close,” she confirmed.

“Listen, El, I hate to –”

“You still haven’t told me what’s up with you two.” 

“But … I –”

“Here’s your drink, bro.” Devon handed him the glass of scotch he had poured right before his loving wife became a she-devil. “Liquid courage,” he confided with a nod. 

“Thanks.” Sagging into his seat, Chuck brought it to his lips. The liquor flared hot in his throat, a comforting burn that had the side benefit of keeping him from having to talk for a minute. 

Ellie, however, wasn’t buying it. “Look at you. What’s wrong, Chuck?”

“Again … I wish I could.” Chuck tightened his grip on the tumbler. “But this is just … not the topic I can … talk about with my sister.”

“Oh.” Ellie cleared her throat. 

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“I … see. Well, I am a doctor …. Who exactly is having this … problem: you or … Casey?”

“Wh-what problem?” When his brain caught up, Chuck almost dropped the glass. “Are you … suggesting – Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Not –”

“Chuck.” Ellie waited for him to stop gasping. “Talk to me.”

“It’s not what you think,” Chuck finally answered, swallowing hard. “It’s only that … Casey has –”

“So,” Ellie cut in. “It’s Casey.”

The very same man who would pluck out every last body hair on his lanky limbs if he got wind of this conversation. Yes, that Casey.

“Oh, hell.” Lifting the glass, Chuck downed the entire contents, hacking like a two-pack-a-day smoker when it caused an inferno in his gut. When that didn’t immediately kill him, as he had hoped, he buried his head in his hands. “Ellie, I’m begging you here, please –”

“Let’s try this, okay?” He heard Ellie assume her ‘Doctor Bartowski’ voice. “What’s … Casey’s favorite food?”

“His what now?” The claxon of warning bells sounded between his ears. He should run, because wherever Ellie was going with this, it could still go down the tubes faster than the Zune. 

“You heard me.”

“Favorite food? Uh, well ….” He hunkered in his seat, making himself a smaller target. “I guess … chorizo burritos?”

“Good. That’s good. Let’s use that.” Ellie folded her arms over her shirt and nodded at him. “So, before the week of the wedding, how often did Casey … have chorizo burritos?”

“Uh-oh. Speaking of chow.” Devon backed up a step, patting his flat belly. “I think I’m going to make a sandwich. Can I get anyone anything?” Conspicuously, the Captain didn’t wait for an answer before he fled to the sanctuary of the kitchen. 

“Ellie. I … can’t.” Chuck picked up one of the pillows and began pulling on the strands of fringe. “I … I don’t think I can talk to you about –”

“Chuck, I’m trying to help you – and Casey. Just answer the question.”

“God, I don’t know!” Now at least he could use the pillow to bury his head. “Uh, twice a day …? Seven days a week – so, yeah, do the math, okay? Sheesh! Are we done yet?”

From the kitchen, he heard a clang that sounded like a utensil hitting the floor. “Whoa,” Devon mumbled. “That’s awe –”

“Devon.” Ellie signaled with her head to leave it at that. And perhaps the esteemed Doctor Eleanor Faye Bartowski could hold it together at this revelation, but to Chuck’s horror, his big sister was blushing madly at the math. She lifted her glass and took a long inelegant swig of the Pinot Noir, composing herself, and turned to her kid brother. “Uh-huh.” Ellie coughed politely. “Well … that’s a lot of burritos.”

Chuck looked away, clutching the pillow and wilting under the heat of her eyes. Hell, yes it was a lot of burritos! But could he be blamed for Casey’s appetite? Breakfast burritos, burritos up against the neat rows of shelves in the armory, burritos in the home entertainment room – and once, in a split second of desperation, the front seat of Herder #3. Not that that counted, really … it was more of a taco at best. 

Taco? Now she had him doing it!

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose, not daring to look up. “In … in case you haven’t noticed, sis, I’m dying here, so if we can wrap up the full-blown humiliation segment of the interrogation, and move right into the Chinese water torture, I’d really appreciate it.” 

Chuck also hoped for a quick death when Casey heard this on the surveillance feed, but that was beside the point. 

“Well.” Ellie bit down on her bottom lip and cast a quick glance in the direction of his boyfriend’s apartment. “We have the … baseline,” she said, “and I’m trying not to freak out at the number of burritos my brother has been eating –”

“Oh, God.”

“Babe, I’m proud of you,” Devon called from the kitchen. “You’re doing great.”

“Why don’t we move up to the present day?” Ellie was trying to remain objective, Chuck noticed, as she took another sip of wine. “Since the wedding … well, have there been any … oh, geez ….”

“No burritos,” Chuck said, muffled between his fingers. “It’s like he’s given up on … oh crap crap crap – anything … south of the border.”

“I … oh.” Ellie blinked a few times. “Has Casey been … examined by a doctor?”

Chuck went bug-eyed. “Are you … suggesting … that he –?”

“Not me, silly! God, Chuck.” Without looking up, she lifted her glass over her shoulder. “Devon, is there more wine?” 

“Right behind you, babe.” Devon tipped the wine bottle in a healthy pour, and then topped off Chuck’s scotch. It only gave the kid about another twenty seconds to play dumb before he had to dive headlong into a conversation that would have Casey coming up with a creative punishment for weeks. Unfortunately, his boyfriend was good at that.

“Thanks, sweetie.” At least she paused to take another drink, which gave him a moment to think about the twelve ways Casey knew how to bend him like a pretzel. “I meant, a doctor who could diagnose his problem. There are … options for a man with his condition.”

“His condition?” Chuck rolled his eyes. “Have you met my boyfriend? Lives across the courtyard, speaks in a series of grunts decipherable only by feral dogs? He’s about so big, shoulders this wide?” His hands flew out to the sides about three feet apart. “Do you really think … besides, trust me. That’s not the issue.”

“And how do you know?” 

“Because.” Chuck had to smother a groan. “We still sleep in the same bed. I still see him get up in the morning…?” Seriously? Did he have to spell it out for her? After of eight years of medical school? “Can I go now? Morgan’s going to be at our apartment –”

“Nuh-uh. So far the only things I’ve learned is that you need a restraining order if you get within five hundred yards of a golf course, and that … well, Casey has an appetite for … chorizo burritos –”

“C’mon, sis, please?”

“Bro, in Ellie’s defense, she used the code word,” the Captain pointed out from the kitchen. 

“Devon, sweetie,” Ellie said flatly. “Not helping.” 

“I’ll repeat this for those of you in the back of the audience,” Chuck deadpanned, resting his forehead on his hand. “But can we change the subject?” 

“We still don’t know why the two of you are acting so weird.” 

“And I promise,” Devon said, “no more talking about … tasty cylindrical-shaped meats.”

Quiet stretched out while Ellie blushed. 

“I … well,” Chuck said quickly, “it’s just that ... I want to tell you, but –” Tell her what? Who was he kidding? She would kill him if she knew one tenth of how dangerous his life had become – and that he had kept it a secret. How could he tell her anything even remotely close to the truth? 

“Chuck, we used to be able to talk,” Ellie said. “To help each other. What’s happened? It’s like you’re … a different person sometimes.”

Being a human computer whose every move is watched under twenty-four/seven surveillance might just do that to a person. To say nothing of falling in love with his big and scary-as- hell government-issued handler. 

Complicated didn’t begin to cover it.

But it was Ellie. He had to tell her something. She had lost her mother, then her father, left to raise a nerdy, awkward little brother. When blind fury should’ve eaten away at her, she faced it down. Whatever it took to keep them together, to keep him safe.

“Ellie, I ….” Chuck clenched his fists, his decision made. “Okay, let me start here,” he said. “Casey’s mad at me. And not just ‘leaving fast food wrappers in the Vic’ or ‘splattering Red Bull on the latest issue of ‘Garden & Gun’ mad. I mean, really mad.”

“What happened?” she asked. “Why … what did you do?”

Chuck just dragged his hands through his hair all over again. “Ellie, I screwed up,” he admitted quietly. “In a big way. In a ‘I want to kick you to the curb’ kind of way.”

“You didn’t –” Her face became pasty white. “While Casey was out of the town the week before the wedding …? You didn’t … have se –”

“No! God, no. Nothing like that.” Chuck held up a hand and shot her a ‘get real’ look. “Besides, El, were you in the room a minute ago when I clearly brought up the subject of – uh, burritos?”

“The kid does have a point there, babe,” the Captain offered up as he polished off a sandwich. “Just sayin’. Getting more burritos is probably the last thing on his mind. Why would he go out to Taco Bell when he’s got the whole enchilada at home?” He held out a fist. “Metaphorically speaking, eh, bro? Lock it out.” 

“I really … wow.” It was the only word his mouth could form at the moment, but then again, wanting to die on the spot did that to a man. “Thanks … thanks for your help there, Devon,” Chuck finally managed. “Can we change the subject again? Please?”

A relieved smile crossed Ellie’s face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have implied that my sweet little brother is a man-slu –”

“And on that happy note, can I go now –?”

“Hardly,” Ellie told him. “What I know so far is that Casey is angry, and you seem to own up to it. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He sensed what she was doing. Secretly sharpening her nails, ready to pounce if she got so much of a whiff that he was fibbing to protect Casey’s temper. He had witnessed she-bear mode a few times – the most potent example when Bryce had him kicked out Stanford. It wasn’t pretty. 

Chuck closed his eyes, resigned to tell her something that was sort of like the truth. “I … might have interfered with his job.”

“His job? What … he’s not a sales person anymore?”

The kid almost laughed until he reminded himself it would be wise to hold it in. Instead, he steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Uh, Ellie? I meant his job with the military. You remember right before the wedding, I told you he’s still in the reserves? That he was called into duty for the week?”

“Hah. Okay, my bad.” Ellie laughed. “And yes, how could I forget. But what does that have to do with you?”

“Well.” Chuck tried his damndest not look at her. “I might’ve … sorta … talked to his superior officer about the dangers of his … assignment, and that he shouldn’t be sent out in the field exposed like he is to every horrible shred of mankind with no one watching his back.” The last words were said in a rush.

“You what?!” she blurted. “You had no right to interfere, Chuck! I mean, talking to his boss without talking to him first? That’s way out of bounds.” 

“I could see how someone could think that … if you looked at it from a weird angle? And didn’t –”

“Going behind his back? There is no scenario where this is permissible.”

“Fine. I get it, okay?” Chuck said, massaging his temples. “I overstepped my bounds and should’ve stayed out of it.”

“Not cool, bro,” Devon noted between chews of his sandwich. “No wonder that big bear of yours has been prowling around here like someone stole his prime rib.” The Captain raised a brow, contemplating that. “Or burritos, in this case.”

“Devon!”

“Oh, God,” the kid muttered, trying to climb to his feet. “I believe the topic of meat-filled tortillas is my cue to go –”

“Not a chance.” Before he could move, Ellie set down her glass and latched onto his wrist. “You didn’t tell us what happened after that. What did his boss say?”

Chuck attempted to pull his arm back. When that didn’t work, he gave up and shut his eyes, mostly to block out her disapproving look. “Uh, well, here’s the funny thing about that ….” Sweat began to spring up under his shirt. “She sort of … listened to me and took my advice. 

“What? She did?”

“Y-yeah,” he said. “Casey was told that he will be working with a partner from now on – when he’s in his military job and doing, you know, military stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“He doesn’t really talk about it, El,” Chuck told her, glancing up. “I don’t think he’s supposed to, actually. Oh, uh, and there might be one more thing …?”

“Because that wasn’t enough?”

“You’re beginning to sound just like him, by the way.”

“And you’re dragging this out.”

“Uh, you see … the deal is ….” The need to cringe stopped him for a second. “My talk could have had something to do with his role being modified to more of … security than special operations and combat.”

“Oh, Chuck.” Ellie’s nose wrinkled up at him. “You owe him an apology.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Hell, he had offered to scrub his back in the shower, which he was hoping would’ve led to other types of apologies. The kind with fun benefits attached. 

Because, really? How did that not work?

Chuck kept fidgeting with the glass. Damn it. If she was upset at him for that blunder, then the next admission would plant her feet firmly in Casey’s camp. 

“I know that look.” She lifted her chin at him. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“I guess you could consider this … a few faux pas in rapid succession?” The Intersect was no help getting out of this, but an idea struck, one that didn’t involve lying to her. Mostly. “Listen, Ellie,” he said. “There is more, but you have to promise me something first.”

“What is it?” she asked, already sounding suspicious.

“You can’t freak out.” 

Ellie’s gaze remained steady. “Something tells me I’m not going to like this.”

“Just … remain calm.” Chuck swept a look over her face, and then heaved a breath. “There … may have been a guy – when we were working ….” Okay, so, working to get away from the government. “Who wanted to take something – and he was, well, armed –”

“Oh, my God! A robbery?” She jolted in her seat, sending wine sloshing over the rim of her cup. “There was a robbery at the store? Are you okay –”

“Babe.” The Captain looked up from a concoction that he was pouring out of the blender. “Slow down. Let Chuck tell us –”

“You could’ve been killed! What if he –”

“Whoa, whoa, sis.” Chuck took her glass while Awesome fetched a dishtowel. “I’d like to make the point that that was the epitome of freaking out. Obviously, we’re both fine, El.”

Ellie wiped up the mess and passed off the towel to her husband. Her eyes glistened but she managed to blink it back. “I’m … better. Finish the story.”

“I was just going to do that,” Chuck said. “Right before the whole shrieking thing.”

“For the record, Chuck, I don’t see the humor in this.” Ellie kept her eyes on him, waiting. “What happened?”

Chuck focused on a piece of lint on her area rug to avoid the freak-out face. It wasn’t helping. “Welllll,” he began cautiously. “The guy … with the gun – Ellie, I know that makes you a little bit nuts that he had a gun and that I was in close proximity to something more dangerous than our microwave, but, yes ,he had a gun.” 

“Then what?” she said, her voice breaking.

“I saw that Casey hadn’t noticed the man – he was talking to someone else – and I wanted to make sure … he was safe.”

“So,” Ellie started, and Chuck recognized that fired-up look. “You did what stupid thing exactly?”

“As a side note,” Chuck sniffed, “I’d like to thank you for not being judgmental, sis.” 

“But I’m right?” 

“Oh, crap,” Chuck let out under his breath. “Here’s the deal. When I noticed that Casey didn’t see the guy – this is the part that you’re gonna hate, El – I kinda … made myself the target instead of him so that he wouldn’t get hurt. There.” He plastered on a grin, praying it didn’t look too manic. “That’s about it, end of story, so – what did I do with those batteries?”

“How … how could you do that?! I mean, I get why you don’t want to see Casey get hurt, but he’s –” She floundered, searching for the right word. “He’s Casey, for God sakes! You just told me that he’s been part of the Special Forces. And I’m sure you’ve noticed, he’s not exactly a little guy!” 

“Ellie, slow down. I already got my smack down from John, so –” 

“So, why in the world do you think you should throw yourself into danger for him? You’re ….” Ellie studied him from curly head to black Chucks, and froze, completely at a loss. “You!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Bro. You’re Chuck Bartowski.” Lowering his protein shake – a seaweedy-looking liquid that was making Chuck’s stomach turn – the Captain wiped his lips, appraising him the same way Ellie had. “You’re not exactly the kind of guy …. Well, let’s just say I can see why your big bear is snorting mad, so to speak. No offense.” 

“None taken.” Though Chuck was fairly certain his scowl said otherwise. “Glad you’re all supporting me on this.”

“Are you going to tell us what happened with the guy?” Ellie asked.

Chuck shrugged. “The Freak Out Rule is still in full effect, Ellie,” he insisted. “In the end, yes, it was dangerous, and yes … Casey had to save my ass –”

“Oh, dear God.”

“And as a final point, yes: he’s pissed at me for jumping into the middle of the situation. He thinks he could’ve handled the big jerk on his own – and without my interference.” 

“What did he say?”

“Ellie, I can’t.” Chuck stretched out his legs and lifted his glass until he noticed it was empty. “I can’t … I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“What are you not saying?”

It was easier to stare at his feet, but Chuck could study the scuff on the rubber toe of his shoe for only so long. It was horrible and kept him up at night. “He told me that if I ever do something like that again,” the kid said quietly. “If I ever put myself in danger for him – he’ll leave.”

“Leave? He would … walk out? He told you that?”

“And there you have it,” Chuck acknowledged as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “That’s why burritos are now on the forbidden foods list. Happy now, sis?”

“Oh.” Ellie cleared something stuck in her throat with a long sip of the wine. “I see.”

“Wait a damn minute.” He leaned forward to stare at her. “Are you … are you smiling at me behind that glass? Excuse me here, sis, but did I say something that was amusing? Because I thought my mouth just formed the words ‘he’ll leave’.” Chuck, by now, had an annoyed look on his face. “That’s not the reaction I was going for here.”

“Sorry, Chuck.” She lowered the glass, confirming indeed that her lips were curled in a small smile. “I didn’t mean … oh, hell, little brother.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it do you?”

“Get it? Is there more to get?”

The next thing Chuck felt was her hand, softly threading through the waves at his temple, pulling back the curls to tap his head lightly. “For a genius, you’re being dense again.”

“It comes standard with the package. Care to explain?”

“Honey … he loves you.”

Chuck blinked at her. This was the reason, he thought, he was never very good with women. Why did they have to be the most baffling creatures in the universe? Didn’t Sarah smile and say the same damn thing when they had their talk in the back of the van, and now this? 

“Loves me?” Chuck tried to push her hand away. “Maybe on another planet, vanishing is just a simple gesture of love, but on planet Earth, El, it could be considered –”

“Chuck. Listen to me. I’m going to go out on a limb here, and no offense, but Casey strikes me as the kind of guy who … doesn’t like to talk about his feelings.”

“Really.” Chuck made a scoffing sound. “Ellie, you don’t have to dance around that topic. Just say it, okay? We both know not only does he not talk about them, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t recognize that they even exist.” 

A line appeared between her furrowed brows. “Professionally, let’s just say … your boyfriend is communicatively repressed by –”

“Emotional constipation. I actually get that part, sis. Can we get to the point?”

“I wasn’t going to say it quite like that, but … I think you summed it up.” Ellie grinned and took a second to stretch her legs. “I’m sure you figured out, then, that he’s afraid of where all of this,” and she motioned a hand at Chuck, “has gone, and that … during the armed robbery, well … he almost lost the one thing he can’t fathom loosing.”

Just another reason women were infuriating as hell. It had taken him too long to figure that out, and Ellie had landed on the answer as soon as the story was out of his mouth. 

Chuck huffed. “What I need to know is how to fix it.”

Ellie picked up her glass, her grin becoming a tad smug. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you’ve done so far to penetrate your man of steel?”

The running water in the kitchen sink came to an abrupt halt. “Huh. This part, I gotta hear.” Devon set the blender down and leaned on the counter top. “Sounds like you didn’t quite get to the pantalones –?”

“Devon,” Ellie reminded him. “Let my brother tell us?”

Chuck sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Uh, first, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Chuck, we’re not going to make fun of you. Now, just tell me so I can help, okay?”

“Just remember that when you hear how this blew up horribly in my face, you did promise,” Chuck pointed out. He made a snap decision to leave out any references to low rise jeans or loofahs. “Okay … there could have been … um, a few scented candles … maybe some … jazz to make him relax –”

“C-candles?” A laugh escaped before Ellie could stifle it. “You did not ….”

Chuck bristled. “Glad I could amuse the audience. Honestly, I would expect betrayal from anyone but you, Ellie, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to go through life blissfully unaware of how humorous my attempts to smooth things over –”

“With scented candles?” Ellie’s brought a hand up to her mouth. “Let me ask you the same thing. Have you met your boyfriend? The big guy who lives across the courtyard, makes your dinner every night –”

“Drives a car almost as old as you,” Devon clarified helpfully.

Chuck whirled around to make a face at the Captain. The implication was not lost on him, and it pissed him off. “Didn’t we agree several months ago that the slight age difference between me and my boyfriend is a non-issue –”

“Well, yes –”

“– predicated on the simple fact that Casey could kick the ass of any man half his age?” Chuck narrowed his eyes at his brother-in-law. “More to the point, I was hoping one betrayal in the family was enough for tonight. Considering we’re ‘bros’ now?”

“Sorry, Chuckster.” At least Devon had the decency to look sheepish. He went back to rinsing out green slimy gook from the blender. “Guess you don’t wanna know, sport, the man’s perspective to your problem and how you can fix it.”

Ellie was about to open her mouth until morbid curiosity made her turn with a raised brow. “I’m almost afraid to ask,”she responded, “but … the problem, Devon?”

“Sure,” the Captain replied as if it was obvious. “We had the talk, right, Chuckles?” He winked at the kid’s confused expression. “The bike?” 

Chuck paled, suddenly remembering the Awesome advice the night Devon had picked up on the vow of celibacy with his then fake girlfriend. “The …? Oh, no.”

“See, you do remember.” Devon grinned. “I told you to oil up the rusty chain and start pedaling away, hmm? And you took it to heart, bro … gotta give you credit for that. Only … well, maybe you should’ve –”

“Sweetie, what are you talking about?” Ellie asked.

Chuck slapped his hands over his eyes. “Please … and I mean this in the most emphatic way… please, Devon, do not finish whatever it is that you’re getting ready –”

“Babe,” Devon broke in, ignoring Chuck’s red face. “Your little bro went from training wheels to a Harley Custom. A rough riding machine.” He stopped briefly to think about it, and then added, “Those bikes are meaty. Big-boned in all the right places … a bare knuckle grip … the wind whipping.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think –”

“Oh, crap –”

“The problem is the kid skipped the Schwinn and jumped onto a street rod, babe. Bound to be some bumpy pavement when he’s climbing up on –”

“Devon!” Ellie hissed, and her eyes flared in warning. “This is my baby brother you’re talking about.”

“Uh, just one favor?” Chuck unburied his face and raised his hand in the air. “Can someone, oh, I don’t know, kill me right now? Please?”

“Honey, let me handle this,” Ellie said, giving her husband one last look of dire threat. Then she turned to Chuck. “Okay, let’s talk about this … apology of yours.”

“Only if we can avoid talking about how lame it was? Because I think Casey covered that already – without really saying it.” 

“More scotch, bro?”

“No, I really … well, I shouldn’t –” He stopped to look at Ellie. “Okaaay, maybe a little more. Thanks.” When Devon replenished his drink, the kid took a long pull, feeling a flush crawl up his cheeks. “We should just get this over with,” he said wearily. “Why don’t you tell me how I can seduce my boyfriend?”

“Seduce?” Ellie gaped at him. “Is that what you think this is?” Before he could answer, she gave him a sisterly cuff to the side of the head. “What is the matter with you?”

“Ow! What’s with the hitting?”

“This isn’t about a seduction!” Remarkably, she managed to stop before the ‘Dumbass!’ slipped out.

Chuck gave her a sour look anyway. “But … I thought this was about … you know. How to make up?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said. “This is Casey. It’s about making him feel permanent – in your life. God knows, Chuck, from what you’ve said … he’s never had that stability.” 

“Something else he never talks about, but, yeah, I guess you could put it that way. So?”

“Chuck, listen to me.” Ellie put her feet up on the coffee table and heaved a sigh. “You need to show him … that no matter what rotten things happen, what dreams are crushed … and which ones together you keep, you’re in this for the long ride –”

“Just what I said,” Devon mumbled from the kitchen.

“And despite all of that,” Ellie barged on, ignoring him, “you understand his feeling of losing the man he was, his fears –”

“I won’t be able to use that word,” Chuck corrected. “There are certain boundaries with the big guy.”

“Well, regardless of how difficult he makes it – and no matter what is going on in that head of his, show him that when he pulls away, you’ll be there to pull him in.”

Show him. 

“That I … love him,” Chuck whispered. He looked down at the glass without really seeing it. “That’s what you meant all along. No seductions or scented candles need apply.”

Ellie regarded him steadily. “Look who’s growing up. My brother. Maybe there is hope for him, after all.”

But if anything, Chuck felt more uncertainty. So what if he had unraveled what she was getting at? How in the world could he show Casey that when he looked at him, the man that he loved, he saw the sphere of himself? That he had lost his soul in ocean blue eyes? This was Casey. He would laugh in his face. He would let his pride tear him apart rather than expose his own vulnerability. 

He didn’t get that he loved Casey in the place they were. The bond, the component of intimacy, it was as simple as breathing. Casey couldn’t think it was a mistake or wasn’t meant to be. The kind of thing that happens so rarely that they couldn’t let it go. 

Jesus, was he stubborn.

Chuck set the glass down. No more drinking, he told himself. It only magnified his self pity. “I’ll never get through to him when he’s like this,” he said. “He’s still John Casey, no matter how much I thought he could change. It’s impossible, okay?”

For that, Ellie looked like she wanted to cuff him upside the head again. “Hold on. Is this because he’s never…? Well, he’ll tell you. Just give him time.”

I love you. They both knew that’s what she meant. At one time, he would’ve given anything to hear those words from Casey, but he wasn’t that naïve about his lover anymore.

“It’s not that.” Chuck felt a small stab, but he swallowed and went on. “I don’t need to hear it. He’s told me in other ways.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I don’t know how to do what you’re telling me to do, El! Listen, it’s not like we had the greatest role models in our lives. I’m sorry, okay? But when you say he needs to know – to show him – I don’t know how to do that.” Chuck flopped back and pointed his thumb at his chest. “Remember? Chuck Bartowski? I haven’t exactly been a force to be reckoned with in this department either, you know.”

Ellie poked him in the arm as if her brother was being unnecessarily dense, a child that needed her to explain it slowly. “Show him, Chuck. Show him what matters to you is because it matters to him. Show him that if you’re given the chance, you’ll fight every day to keep it. That you love essentially every part of him. That you don’t want to … fuck it up.”

For a long minute, Chuck stared at her. It occurred to him that she never used that word, and now that she did, it caught his attention – which, he figured, was exactly what she intended. 

“Show him,” he muttered, not hiding his skepticism. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is simple. Because he already loves you.”

What the hell kind of answer was that? 

But was he willing to be vulnerable? To let go of the control. To finally accept the last five months have changed him.

“What do I do then?” Chuck asked, feeling like an idiot. This conversation was exhausting him. Ellie had to get to the point.

“Everybody has a door. No matter what happened, he’s still your boyfriend. The person you love, right? So, it shouldn’t be hard to find the key.”

“The … key? Are you serious?” Chuck sat up straight and his back went stiff. “That’s the epitome of ambiguity, sis. Besides being yet another cliché, what does that even mean?”

To his surprise, Ellie laughed. “Genius but literal,” she observed, shifting her hazel eyes towards the kitchen where Devon was cleaning up. “I meant, show him you’re the guy who loves him, even when he comes home at the end of the day beaten down a little by life. That no matter what you’re not sure of anymore, you know you’re sticking around.”

“Because I am.” It was the simplest answer. 

Ellie brought up a hand to touch his cheek, reminding him of the countless times she soothed him when his heart hurt. “One more thing. Stop berating my brother, okay? He’s a hell of a guy when you get to know him. And he can do what he sets out to do.”

The way she said it, Ellie believed it. 

Maybe it was true.

Seconds ticked by while Chuck studied her face, not moving. “So, I think I’ve figured out that this isn’t about dopey keys or a seduction,” he finally admitted.

Her smile was dazzling. It spoke volumes of his sister’s confidence in him. Ellie slipped the pillow out of his hands gently and laid it on the corner of the couch, signaling the conversation was over. “You’ll know what you need to do.”

So he had to do it. He had to take the first step – and put his faith in the one person who could show him. Wrap his hand around his heart, and tug Casey in right next to him.

He had to put his faith in Chuck Bartowski.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Fourteen-x-


	21. Chapter Fifteen

Casey vs. the Way Back

(Chapter Fifteen)

-x-

He missed him. That alone told the kid he had fallen deeper into it than he knew he could go.

For one, Chuck missed Casey’s slightly twisted smile when he snuck up on him at the Herder desk, forcing the kid to jump at the sudden touch of warm lips to his ear. Every day, out of nowhere, came a rough kiss at his neck, or long fingers threading through his dark waves at the nape, lightly digging into the back of his scalp. 

That part always felt good. Casey has strong fingers, and Chuck never complained about it. 

When Casey was bored, he’d come around for a drive-by, a vulgar tight squeeze on Chuck’s ass that was gone before he could swat it away. That, he griped about. Casey didn’t know his own strength, after all, and fingerprints on his butt cheek would be difficult to explain if they got in a car accident and ended up in the ER ….

Why the hell was he even thinking about this?

Chuck stared hard at the clock next to the bed. Definitely not thinking of grope sessions at work. 

He made a fist, pressed it against his forehead, and sighed.

One thing for certain, Casey’s spy senses came in handy for these little clandestine missions at the Buy More. Inexplicably, the agent never got caught when he exercised his right to feel up his boyfriend any time he damn well felt like it. Of course, the Handbook of Buymoria had nothing on the groping policy.

Secretly, though, it was kind of a turn on. The weirdness was that Casey never said a word during his incursions, never uttered dirty encouragement against his neck while he copped a handful, or stole a quick wet kiss. Just that smug grin and back to work. Like a hit and run of the persuasive kind.

It was so stupid. Why was he letting it get to him? Wasn’t it a bit crazy to miss a man who spent nearly every waking hour with him? But he did. He missed the way Casey talked about his day, grumbling about sports, or the idiotic customers and even more idiotic co-workers. Then there was the way he pretended not to be drumming his fingers against his pant leg when a rock classic played on the radio. By now, Chuck knew to shut up and look out the window at the first riffs of Runaway.

How fitting was that? 

He’d been lying there for thirty minutes already. On his own. It hurt to be in the same bed, to be so close, and not waking up with a long arm twined over Casey’s middle. He missed the intimacy, the way Casey’s muscled body fit to his, how he hauled him in to his chest, legs stretched out, and stroked his hair to wake him. 

Now there was nothing. For all it was worth, he might as well be on another planet. 

Okay, next to nothing, but the ‘conversation’ last Tuesday after breakfast – and Chuck had to stop his hands from making air quotes – hardly qualified. 

“The General.” Casey paused to fill his coffee cup and then leaned against the counter, watching Chuck.

“Uh, okay. Small lady. Big stars. Bigger temper?” Arranging pickle slices over the roast beef in his sandwich, Chuck didn’t bother looking up. “Wait. Did I remember to word it as a question?” 

Casey brushed off the attempt at humor. And pissiness. “She wants to know if you’ll participate in Intersect 2.0 testing.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Chuck noted, slicing the sandwich into two neat halves. “We told her she would have availability of the Intersect. Not the latest version, the tested version, or an upgraded version.” The kid set the knife down and brought up one of his hands. Then, he brought up his middle finger. “Tell your boss she can spin on it.”

Casey calmly took a sip from his mug, cleared his throat. “Funny similarity between civilian life and military life,” he remarked.

“What’s that?” Chuck went back to stuffing his sandwich into a baggie and picked up an apple. “Oh, besides the cool uniforms,” he said, glancing up at his boyfriend’s Buy More polo. 

Casey grunted. Maybe some amusement was there. “No. They have a nasty habit of getting their panties in a bunch when you tell them they can go fuck themselves.”

“Oh.” Chuck pretended to think about it. “Well, how about this. You can tell her that I greatly appreciate … nay, I’m honored really –”

“Nay, Bartowski?” Casey snorted.

“– to be considered for such an esteemed role within her organization. But after careful deliberation, I’d like to respectfully suggest that she can go fuck herself.”

Casey rolled a slug of coffee against his tongue. Was he trying not to laugh, or to pummel him? With that look it was hard to tell. “I’ll tell her you declined.”

“Or that.” Chuck looked up at his boyfriend, standing there tall and straight, and his dark eyes softened. No matter what had happened between them, Casey would support him. That he knew. “Thank you,” Chuck said, dropping the attitude. “For … talking to me about it.” 

That was the end of it.

The week had been a struggle. The classic battle of obstinance and cold silence. A million times over, he considered scrapping his plan altogether. Waving the white flag in retreat. Because acting like he didn’t exist was a punch in the gut. There had been too many times, lying in bed in that fluffy, gooey place between sleep and wakefulness, where his consciousness whispered for him to just give up. 

But on a sticky, humid Saturday morning, with sunlight streaming in through the window, the world looked different. Because today was The Day. 

Yep, today. Maybe it was a tad childish to be excited, but for once, life had worked out in his favor. Through a miracle of retail personnel scheduling, he had landed a day off, while Big Mike had ordered ‘Any of you big ass green shirts to clock in at nine a.m. sharp for inventory control’. He took care to add, ‘Not the pansies that can’t lift up to eighty pounds. I need some damn muscle power’. Big Mike was looking at Casey dead square in the eyes when he said it. Casey gave him an even, pissed off look in return. Message received. Guess who was doing the heavy lifting on a sweaty, balmy Saturday?

For once, thank you, Buy More for not screwing him over. 

Chuck rubbed his hands through his hair and climbed out of bed, scratching the scruff on his jaw. One look in the bathroom mirror told him he could not skip shaving today. Making quick work with the razor, he stripped out of his boxers and took a hot shower, then tossed on a pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. By the time he reached the bottom stair, he was whistling a tuneless ditty of anticipation. Only a natural disaster of the seismic kind could stop him today.

Or … that.

His stocking feet slid to a halt while the tune died on his lips. He had the right day, didn’t he? It was Saturday. Still, he brought up the heel of his hand to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. This was not happening.

Oh no. 

The Bartowski Curse. It had taken exactly two point five seconds for the very lynchpin of the scheme to go horribly askew. 

Casey stood at the coffee pot, wearing his dark jeans and neatly creased black polo. The hideous Buy More green shirt and khakis were … suspiciously absent. 

Chuck searched him over from combed hair to polished black boots – his boots? Not a good sign – biting back his disappointment. He warned himself to act casual, however, or his boyfriend would pick up on the scent of fear. 

“Casey? I thought … uh, didn’t Big Mike say today was inventory at the store? Aren’t you supposed to be –”

“There’s been a change in plans,” Casey merely said, setting down his coffee mug. He reached into his back pocket and lifted out something, discreetly locking it into his fist. “Had to tell our boss that I twisted my ankle.” 

“Twisted your ankle? Wow, he believed that?” Chuck leaned his elbows on the countertop that separated him from the kitchen and Casey. “If there’s a mission, why didn’t you tell me?”

“This one doesn’t affect you, Bartowski.” Lingering on that, Casey stopped to give him a slow once over. “Not directly anyhow,” he added, smirking.

Uh-oh. “What?” Chuck stood up, trying not to tense. He wasn’t going to like the reason behind his boyfriend’s smirk. “I have to say, this is cryptic, even for you, sweetie.” Okay, maybe sarcasm wasn’t the best go-to move, but did he have to be an ass about it?

Casey shrugged. “Your flash a few days ago? The Intel you provided to Beckman?”

As if he could forget. Two days earlier, the Intersect had kicked into high gear and did its thing while Chuck was watching Pawn Stars. Freaking Pawn Stars, for crying out. It seems one of the customers found an odd device, buried in an old canvass suitcase, which had the appraisers dumbfounded. 

Oh, but not the Intersect. Obligingly, it spilled out its images, and after an incredibly frustrating day at the store, this was the last thing he needed.

A bone white Guy Fawkes mask under a black hood.  
A gas leak in a power plant.  
Chemical weapons freak Michael Torrens.  
Schematics for the Los Angeles Castaic Storage Facility.  
The mask.

One hell of a headache later, Casey had Beckman on the line, the kid repeated back every aching detail, and after the ubiquitous pat on the head from the General, he returned to flipping channels. All in a day’s work, he figured glumly.

Chuck smoothed the front of his t-shirt, wondering what he was missing here. “The flash? You mean the potential bad guy who has the urge to blow up power stations of the nuclear variety?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s just a misunderstood kid,” Casey replied, though he had noticeably straightened at the mention of explosives. “He picked the wrong back yard to play in. Setting up a little trap to see if he takes the bait. See if we can lure in that piece of work.”

Chuck slanted his head at him, confused. It was the first he had heard of a mission. This wasn’t a monkey wrench; it was more gorilla-sized. “We’re leaving now?” he asked, trying not to sound too peeved at the lack of Intel. “I assume, in this case, the selfless answer is to say take me to your stakeout van. Because, really, so what if I had plans –”

“You’re sitting this one out, kid.” 

“I am?” Maybe his luck was changing. 

Casey nodded. “We already have the Intel from the Intersect. This is the fun part where I get to blow shit up. You,” he said, pointing at him emphatically, “get to stay here today. Capiche?”

Chuck lifted a shoulder. “Fine by me.” This would be too easy. What did he care if Casey was at the Buy More or huddled in a stuffy van, as long as he out of the way for six hours or so?

“Fine.” Casey’s gaze made Chuck look away in a bashful tendency before he could stop himself. “Refrigerator or bed?” the agent asked.

Chuck’s bottom lip jutted out as he took a moment to contemplate exactly what the hell Casey was talking about. Nothing came to mind. “Uh, you’re going to have to help me out on this one, big guy. I don’t think you’re looking for how one is like the other.”

Casey set his jaw. “Take your pick.”

Chuck tried really hard to ignore the warning bells in his head. It unnerved him that Casey was going … somewhere with this and that he had no clue where it was. “Normally, on planet Earth,” he started slowly, keeping it cool, “partners actually, oh, I don’t know, talk to one another?”

“What part did you not hear, Bartowski? Because it was clear on my end.”

“That’s clear to you?” When Casey returned a bland look, Chuck bristled and made a face at his boyfriend. “So let’s try this: if I say refrigerator or – oh. What’s that …?”

Casey looked at him smugly. In that little power play move of his, he had deliberately folded his arms over his chest, making Chuck get an eyeful of bulging forearms – and a fleeting glimpse of the secretive object he had taken out of his back pocket a minute ago.

What the fuck. A pair of handcuffs. 

This was not a normal Saturday morning anymore.

“I’m just wondering, Casey,” and without thinking, the kid backed up a step, thankful that the kitchen counter was between them. “What … are you doing with those?”

Casey huffed. “You need me to explain it to you, Bartowski?”

“Th-that would be yes.” 

Casey began that slow lethal stroll of his around the kitchen counter. “You wanna follow me today, Chuck? Maybe jump in the way when I get that asshole lined up in my sights?”

Only one logical answer came to mind. “N-no?”

“Heh.” Casey shook his head because skepticism was right there in his face. “Oh, I believe you, sport,” he said. “After your little game with Orion. Then McClure. Sneaking behind my back … disobeying orders. Trying to get yourself killed?”

Chuck’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

This was about Casey’s version of trust. Losing him.

There were handcuffs out in the open, like it was normal.

And his boyfriend is fucking crazy.

Chuck shot a wary look over his shoulder, gauging the distance to the door. Too far. They both knew Casey was capable of a mid-air tackle from this distance. Which meant the kid would have to resort to other tactics. Like talking fast. 

And in this case, logic. 

“What … what are you doing there … Casey?” he asked, subtly backing up another step. “Because, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re getting ready to go way out of bounds.”

Casey flashed the handcuffs and rolled his eyes. “Come on, princess,” he said, strolling in closer. “You’re just gonna make it harder on yourself. You’ll be comfortable while I’m gone. I promise, eh? So, which is it?”

“Are you serious?” He was pissed that his voice went up like that, but now was really not the time. “And more to the point, are you out of your mind?!”

Casey shrugged and leveled the patented ‘I don’t give a shit what you think’ look at him.

“You really think … that I’m going to let you ….” 

Casey snorted. “Let?”

Chuck glared and took a deep, calming breath. It did nothing to quell the shot of nerves rioting in his stomach. “Okay. Let’s start this again,” he said gingerly. “You plan on cuffing your boyfriend to a major kitchen appliance, and you don’t see a problem with this?”

“Or the bed. I’m giving you a choice.” Casey said it like that made it okay. “Stop whining and pick one.”

“Pick one? Is this where I’m supposed to salute, Major?” 

“Watch it,” Casey said, picking up the pace. “You’re the one who screwed up.”

“Yes, admittedly … that was me.” Chuck searched for a good reply. When he noticed Casey wasn’t waiting for one, he began walking backwards around the dining table. “Listen, Casey. I get it now. Funny joke, right? I mean, this is just a way to make your point, which I have to say, you’re doing very – ow!” He yelped when his thigh whacked the edge of the table. “You know, if I scream right now, Ellie might just –”

“Need you to make a choice, kid,” Casey sighed and stayed on him like a hound, shoving one of the chairs out of the way. “Or I can pick for you.”

“I hate to be the one to break this news to you, big guy,” Chuck said, hands coming up defensively, “but there is no scenario in a relationship where it is okay to cuff your boyfriend to a bed!”

Casey’s smirk broadened. “Really, kid? Because I can think of about a dozen scenarios where it’s okay without even breaking a sweat.”

Chuck’s mouth dropped open. “Are you … bringing this up now?!” His face abruptly went red and he had to dodge his eyes down, away from the blue eyes that flickered with knowledge. “Besides, I have a feeling this would be one of the more unpleasant scenarios. Not … like … that.”

“You do remember,” the agent said, and laughed. “I thought after you had a few girly shots that night, you forgot everything.”

Right then, Chuck came to the conclusion that embarrassment came in a plethora of distinctive flavors. There was the usual ‘I left my work badge at home,’ or ‘Where did that stain come from?’ variety, to the full blown flush from chest to crown at the ‘My bad ass boyfriend left his handcuffs lying right there, so I decided to play with them and now he reminds me’ humiliation. 

He didn’t want to think about that now. He couldn’t. 

Oh, fuck.

How it happened that night was complicated and weird. Some economical tequila that Morgan had smuggled into the apartment – because Casey wouldn’t allow cheap booze across his threshold – might have been involved. 

And a battle with a bunch of arrogant noobs, but that part was a bit blurry. 

Chuck looked up at the sound of the front door opening, and almost got his head blown off by a Nazi. “Damn.” Greetings would have to wait. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Casey stride into the apartment, take a glimpse of his lover sprawled out on the sofa and Morgan sitting on the floor, both of them in a videogame-induced trance, and shook his head. With a grunt of displeasure, he hung up his jacket and walked up the stairs. By now, the guiding principle on Morgan Tolerance and Gaming and the sanctity of Wednesday night marathons was etched into the relationship bylaws. 

Still, Casey couldn’t resist a parting look over his shoulder. ‘Get the dork out of here by midnight,’ it said.

By twelve thirty, most of the tequila had evaporated and Chuck, for some odd reason slurring a bit, announced that it was time for Morgan to head home. Oh, and to remember to turn on his bike’s taillights.

He blamed the alcohol. It had nothing to do with him … or his curiosity. Nope. It wasn’t the way Casey’s bedroom was swimming and buzzing kind of pleasantly in front of his eyes, or the way his stark inhibitions were soaking in a pool with seven victory shots. 

Because he didn’t wonder or think about it. Ever.

Okay, maybe he did. Just a little. And Casey left them right there, on the dresser next to his empty holster, like he wanted Chuck to pick them up. 

Wow. They’re heavy, he realized fuzzily, weighing them in his fist. When he held them up closer to see how they worked, the metal bracelets swung back and forth, clanking softly. Oh. Without thinking, Chuck slapped his hand over his mouth – until his brain informed him a) that would not stop the noise, and b) he looked pretty stupid right about now. 

Casey, stretched out under the sheet, mumbled and shifted his arms on the pillow. His hair was slightly ruffled, but his face smooth without consciousness and the heavy burden of having to be … him. Blinking a few times, Chuck tilted his head to the side, studying the hard lines and sculpted angles revealed above the cover. Huh. 

The kid was silent for a stretch, biting down on the corner of his mouth and contemplating. Wasn’t it Casey who had suggested he needed to loosen up? 

His feet crept over the floor, and he smiled down at his slumbering boyfriend. He looked so normal when he slept. Not like he could put a bullet through someone’s heart at eight hundred yards, and then go out for coffee. Kinda harmless. 

No. Don’t even think about it. Casey would not see the humor in this. 

But … why not? 

Chuck fussed with the cuffs, smooth against his fingers. The easy swirl of thoughts ebbed and flowed in his brain, until a new one surfaced. He would get a chance to tease him about it later. Because despite the kid’s IQ, John Casey didn’t believe that his own vaunted spy skills could be breached by a partially-trained spy nerd. 

Pfft. Want to bet?

Considering the quantity of tequila shots, Chuck was quite proud of himself. Who knew that being slightly shit-faced would improve his coordination by tenfold? Slowly, not breathing … not breathing, he looped the chain around two of the headboard’s slats, positioned the cuffs without touching bare skin just yet and waited. No movement. Then hand over fist, he closed the clasps, hearing them snap as the lock spring moved into position. 

Casey shifted. And for a brief flash, Chuck felt himself coiled in familiarity, exactly this, recalling the feel of cool metal and warm skin, the flicker of disorientation until recognition – and trust – kicks in.

“…wh’ … the fuck … Bartowski?” he said sleepily underneath him, because as soon as Casey opened his eyes, Chuck climbed on the bed and straddled his hips. Swaying, he grinned down nervously at his half-asleep lover.

“Uh … surprise?”

Casey’s eyes fluttered, then slowly slid open in puzzlement as he adjusted to the inexplicable weight holding him down. There was a minute where Casey just stared up at him. “Need a roadmap, kid? ‘Cause the last time I checked, this was my side of the bed.”

Casey began to lower his elbows, maybe to give him a small shove –

– until the chain went taut, forcing his arms to stay draped over the pillow. “… the hell …?”

They formed a perfect triangle, Chuck noticed a little blurrily. He took a second to admire the chiseled face, strong jaw, wide chest under him. “God … you’re –” Chuck stuttered. Okay. Hot. That’s what he wanted to say.

“Are you – Oh Jesus. Really, kid. How much did you and the little troll have to drink tonight?” Casey squinted up at him, then jerked his arms, exerting downward pressure on his hands. When he felt the pull, he inclined his head, raising a brow towards his hands. Or more specifically, the cuffs secured around his wrists. “What?” Casey muttered.

“Did I say surprise a minute ago?”   
Casey turned a piercing gaze up at him, his face for the most part utterly blank while he considered his predicament. It was the kind of pause that still made Chuck uneasy. His boyfriend, after all, was a well-honed predator, unpredictable, and when he was quiet, it usually meant he was sorting out which limb to start with. 

Maybe this was a horrible idea. God, he felt like an idiot. Blanching at his stupidity and recklessness, Chuck started to move his knees, ready to climb off. “You know, this isn’t –”

“Bartowski. Look at me.” Reluctantly, Chuck shifted his eyes down – and heard the last thing he expected. Because Casey chuckled. It came from a deep and dark place, rich velvet, and from his perch atop his lover, the kid felt the rumble between his thighs. The chuckled died out after a pulse or two, replaced by a look of disbelief. 

“Yes?”

“What,” Casey said low, “the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The fact that he had laughed accomplished a couple of things. For one, Chuck silently thanked the gods of impurity that he wasn’t flat on his ass on the floor, because even with his hands restrained, Casey was capable of crippling him with a leg lock at the flip of a very angry switch. But that didn’t happen. Apparently, his boyfriend found humor in waking up shackled to a headboard. 

What? Chuck would have to re-play that later when there was way less tequila in the equation.

The other pleasing result was that the …kind of … dirty, salacious sound managed to bolster the kid’s courage. He lowered his head, aiming it directly over Casey’s face, and grinned lop-sided at him. “I was just … wondering … what it would be like. To, ya know, see the view from this vantage point.”

“Never heard you complain about this vantage point,” Casey replied, glancing up at his wrists.

Chuck blushed with heat, a sheen of sweat popping up under his shirt, and he blamed the booze. Not the way Casey looked at him with eyes that blazed bright, steady, despite the dark. “Uh, no complaints here,” he told him, brushing his thumb over the firm swell of Casey’s bicep. “But I thought I’d test it out.”

“Well?”

“It’s surprisingly … comfortable.” Chuck shifted. Something was poking his inner thigh. Well. He gave Casey a giddy, alcohol-infused smile. “Yeah, Mister-I’m-on-Bottom, because when I do this,” and to demonstrate, Chuck flattened his palms over Casey’s chest and used the leverage to grind down hard against him, “it feels – gah – r-roomy, don’t ya’ think?”

Yeah, it was. Because when Chuck swished his hips over the stiff bump, Casey reciprocated instinctively by grinding right back. Jesus. Hard as a rock and enormous. 

That’s not what had his attention. Casey, just a second ago, let his eyes drift shut, caught his lower lip on his teeth, and let out a perfect obscene growl as Chuck rubbed not-so-innocently along his length. “Yeah … there,” Casey mumbled. “That’s … fuck.”

Chuck was staring. Seeing Casey like this still had him off his game. Who was he kidding? Hell, he’d never even played on this field. “I think I like it up here,” he heard some drunken idiot say.

“You sure about that, kid?” Casey repositioned his hips, purposely lifting and dragging. “C’mon … do that,” he breathed, his voice scratchy. 

So, Chuck tested his seat again by grinding down, and this time Casey nearly lifted him off the bed by grinding up, back and forth underneath him. “Y-yeah … it seems to fit.” The kid stifled a groan at the feel. “Definitely cozy up here.”

“Maybe you should try it again.”

By the time Chuck‘s attention drifted down his boyfriend’s neck, to his chest, the sheet rumpled at his waist, the boldness and power made him dizzy. Or the tequila, but whatever. “Nope,” he answered. “That was enough. Besides … I think that thing you’re doing down there could, uh, stunt your growth or something. You should be careful.” 

Did he know before tonight that Casey’s laugh made his toes curl?

“Like you … like this,” Chuck said, and smiling lazily, he dug under the sheets and found a mile of bare humid skin. Pushing the cover away, he dragged his hands up, knuckles skimming lightly over Casey’s stomach and ribcage. The hitch of breath made him look up curiously. “Was that okay?”

“Not particularly,” Casey groused. Even through the easy sloshing in his head, Chuck heard the change in his lover’s tone, obviously miffed by Chuck’s decision not to test out the seating options again. “Besides, tiger, did you really think this through? Do you have any idea what you’re gonna do with me. Tied up like this?”

“Well.” Chuck studied him, clenching into muscle to keep his balance. “You bring up a good point, Major.” He thought about it, and then lifted one of his hands from Casey’s shoulder, cupping his jaw. “This first,” Chuck said, and bending over his boyfriend’s chest, he pressed his mouth over Casey’s … slow, teasing with his lips, a nibble, a lazy stroke of his tongue.

Casey growled into his mouth, reflexively pushing up with his hips. Broad shoulders bunched, muscles rippled along the curve of his arm as he tugged on the cuffs. It was, the kid thought, his nature to take control, his body instinctively fighting the susceptibility of being laid open below him. 

Too much thinking. Chuck fisted his hands in Casey’s hair and kissed him harder, sweeping inside to touch his tongue to his.

A harsh rasp, and Casey pulled away by turning his head. Baffled, Chuck brought his face up, still close enough to fill Casey’s vision. “Is something … wrong?” the kid asked, trailing a finger over his jaw just because he could.

“Christ,” Casey said, finally turning to look at him. “How much tequila did you drink tonight? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I think I feel a buzz just from swapping spit.”

“Wow. Eloquence and romance all in one big scary package. I’m a lucky guy.” Chuck feigned annoyance, then brushed his thumb over Casey’s bottom lip. “Okay, okay. There’re other things I can do, you know. Hey! I just thought about this: are you ticklish?”

It was disturbing that Casey could crack his knuckles even now, like this. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, the glaring did it. “You know something, Chuck?”

Chuck leaned over his face. “I have a feeling this ‘something’ isn’t in the Intersect.”

“Yeah. Because if you even think about touching my neck ….”

“Your neck is ticklish?” Chuck darted his eyes down and licked his lips in concentration. “Did I know that before? Maybe I should test that with –”

“Stop right there.” Casey’s look became dire. “I should warn you, sport. I can get out of this.”

“Are you – really? You can?” Adjusting his knees, Chuck sat up, keeping his ramrod stiff cock from pressing against Casey’s. Just because he could. “How would you do that? And for the record, why didn’t you tell me that when I was … well, you know. Down there.”

“Because, princess, the first way to escape is to break your own thumb. You up for it?”

“Oh.” Chuck drew his brows down as the vision crystallized. “I hate to ask, but what’s the second way?”

Casey looked up at his hands, dangling from the headboard, and flexed his fingers. “I’d bet this is pine. Slats look to be about an inch in diameter. Low density and stress threshold at the joints.” He let his eyes settle on Chuck, and shrugged a shoulder. “One good yank on this and it separates from the frame.”

Chuck took a moment to consider the potential damage. “You know, something just occurred to me.”

“Yeah?” His boyfriend narrowed his eyes, regarded him suspiciously. “What is it?”

The kid lowered himself to a comfortable sprawl over his Casey’s chest, resting his chin between a pair of meaty pecs. Taking his time, he slid one of his arms under Casey’s waist, just to feel what that would be like, circling him … when he can’t stop it. “You say you can do all of those things to get away,” the kid told him, gradually turning up the smile dial to blazing. “But I noticed, Major, you haven’t done any of them. Why is that, I wonder?”

As an answer, Chuck heard that low sexy laugh of his. “God, you can be an idiot,” Casey huffed, glimpsing up at his wrists. “Back to this plan of yours. Until you sober up, nerd, you can forget the mouth-to-mouth action. So, what else ya’ got?”

“Huh. I always thought that when this happened, I would be in charge.”

There it was again, twice in one night. His toes were doing the curl again at the rumbly sound underneath him.

“Think about it much, Bartowski? Being in charge?”

Busted.

Less carefully, he took a kiss. Damn right. “Only … in the hypothetical sense.”

“Big word for what you have in your pants.”

Chuck swallowed. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Heh.”

Now he was peeved. “And no, you did not win that argument.”

Casey grunted, this one self-congratulatory. “So? What’s next? Because I might just fall asleep here.”

“Oh?” Whatever hackles were, yeah, Casey had raised them. Right along the back of his neck. “I might just … well ….”

“Spit it out, kid.”

“F-fuck you. Would that be enough to keep you awake? Major?” 

“Fuck me,” he muttered, arms tightening. “Is that what you just said? “ Another low laugh. “Damn good thing I took care of that virgin tongue of yours. Lips woulda combusted right then, eh, Casanova? ”

“Hah.” But whatever Casey was trying to do, it wasn’t going to fly. Didn’t he know that Chuck was on top? Straightening, the kid sat up a bit higher on his perch, not breaking eye contact. Okay, maybe his heart was hammering in his chest and leg muscles quivering from clamping down around Casey’s hips. The newness of it. But it was mingling with arousal, a case of jittery nerves and excitement. “You heard me.” 

Casey rolled his eyes. Sarcastically. 

Really. 

Chuck frowned down at him. “The way this is supposed to work is that when I do this – wait, have you ever done … this before?”

His boyfriend just looked up at him as if bored, but the layers of muscles along his ribcage tensed. 

“Okay. You don’t want to tell me.” Boosted by the liquor and the fact that Casey had let it go this far, Chuck lowered his face over Casey’s, filling his vision with an awkward smile. 

“What’s that goofy look for, kid?”

“N-nothing.” Cautiously, he slid a hand down to reach behind him, covering as much bare flesh as he could with his fingers, pushing the last of that damn sheet out of the way. His hand moved below Casey’s cock, his balls, purposely skipping the pump action, or a roll in his palm that Casey seemed to like. “Oh. Wait.” Chuck stopped.

“Did you say … wait?” Casey lifted his head off the pillow, his gaze strolling down Chuck’s body. If he was sober, the kid figured, he could make sense of Casey’s look. The way his eyes sharpened, all those straight lines of his nose and jaw becoming rigid. “You forget something, Bartowski?” Casey asked coolly. 

“Oh, yeah.” Chuck put on his best leer – it wasn’t much, but hey, he was in charge – and brought his hand up front again. He regained his balance, focused on Casey’s face … and leisurely, wet a fingertip in his mouth, getting it good and slippery. 

“You like that, Casey?” He was still self-conscious enough to blush now that some drunken sot was talking dirty. “Want to feel my finger … there?” And now that his neck was burning up, Chuck kept going. He dropped his hand back, nudged, circled … testing. The whole time, he watched Casey’s eyes. Watched the way his chest moved when he inhaled sharply at the small prodding. That was … cool.

He did it again.

Casey sucked in a breath between his teeth, strained reflexively at the chain, making the muscles on his shoulders bulge. “You’re forgetting something else, kid.”

Chuck’s brow wrinkled before a clumsy smile eased over his face. “Uh, lube?”

“No, something else,” Casey replied, his steely blue eyes fixed on Chuck’s. “This. If you even think … about putting that,” and he glanced down to where Chuck was sitting, “there, –”

“Th-there?”

“– I’m gonna pinch my butt cheeks together, cinch it off at the root, and spit it out like a spent shotgun shell.” Casey narrowed his eyes. “Got it, champ?”

First, there was confusion, since those were a lot of words to process with Senor Cuervo messing things up. The pause went on for several ticks – until his brain told his hand to move. Chuck looked down – he couldn’t help it – and his eyes widened in shock. “You know what? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he stammered, lifting one of his legs in a hurry. “I should probably just –”

“Taking the coward’s route, Bartowski?”

“Huh?” He froze. “I … I thought … that when you said –”

“That’s all you got? You have me like this.” Casey jerked his hands once, hard enough for the pine slats to creak but not snap in two. “And you give up? That was your only plan, tough guy?” 

“Noooo.” After a hesitation, Chuck settled into his seat again and folded his arms over his chest. “I have … plans.”

“Plans.” Casey turned his head into his shoulder to stifle a yawn. “Why don’t you wake me up when you figure it out?”

“Hilarious observation for a man tied to a bed.” Chuck made a sullen face, wheels spinning. Was it that hard for Casey to take him seriously? “Trust me, you won’t be sleeping.” He shifted his position … just enough.

“What? You leaving again, kid?”

Chuck let him wonder, even as he scooched down Casey’s legs to rest his chin on his belly. “I can get you a magazine if you get bored.”

Casey laughed a little, but Chuck was pleased to see his breathing had picked up. “Or you could turn on the TV and see if … Oh.” Casey went from cynicism to arching his back and shuddering before the rest rolled off his tongue. “That’s … oh. … fuck yes.”

The funny thing about Casey’s skin, right below his abs, his lower stomach … it was soft. Smooth, even. Where the rest of his body, at least his chest, the right side of his ribcage, and one of his upper thighs had old scars, thin white raised lines that never healed right, this was part of him that was … silky. Weird, wasn’t it, Chuck thought while his tongue looped, small swirls … a long stripe there, sucking a taste of muskiness and cocoa butter soap. Kissing lightly. 

A sense of dizziness overwhelmed him when Casey lifted his hips, rubbing his dick along his collar bone. Raising his gaze, Chuck tilted his head to look up at him. A drunken giggle slipped out before he could stop it. “Still awake, Major?”

John Casey focused on the ceiling and chuckled sardonically, then said under his breath, “Why the fuck didn’t I get you hammered months ago?”

If the kid had more coherence, he’d understand what Casey meant by that. Tomorrow. That’s when he’d remember. Maybe figure it out. Instead, Chuck ran his fingers up Casey’s middle. Lowering his head, he swished his tongue down a trail, the sensitive inner thigh, lifting his head to the other thigh without touching the broad crown an inch from his mouth. Then glancing up, he licked his lips. “Never underestimate my plans, Casey. Or doubt my skill set.”

Casey closed his eyes. There was a twist and clench of muscles along his body, a release to the seductive promise that for once, it wouldn’t have to be him. He couldn’t help but moan, the sound of frustration expanding in his lungs. A thrust up, and Chuck felt his length brushing against his neck and chest, straining towards him. 

“That was your plan, Bartowski?” His voice had gotten throaty. Another thrust. “Talk it to death while you’re down there? Maybe … genius, you should rethink your strat – mmnph … oh … like that. God, yeah. Atta boy.” Casey growled, putting a little more force into it, until Chuck had the cognizance to hold his hips down. Because he could. 

Casey’s eyes drifted shut again, he curled his fingers in pulsing grips on the headboard, drawing in breath through his teeth. “Yeah ….” His voice quieted. “Keep going … doing that.” 

“You know, if you keep going, doing that back-up move, I will go over the table.”

Reality, the Evil Mistress of the Here and Now, leveled him with a ferocious slap to the side of the head.

That bitch.

“What?”

Casey held up the cuffs and flashed a smirk. “Easy way or hard way, kid. For your own damn good.”

Chuck blinked at him. “John,” he finally said. It always worked. Even now, the sound of his first name halted Casey, giving the kid a chance to scramble. “I’m not doubting that you think it is. For my own good, I mean.”

“So,” Casey asked. “Which is it?”

“Fine.” Chuck came to a conclusion and his feet slid to a halt, letting Casey step forward until they were eye-to-eye. The kid gave him a look of resigned compliance. “If that’s what you want, then we both know, that’s what you’ll do. I think you’re nuts, but it doesn’t matter what I think.” He held out his wrists in front of him, plastering on a cowed expression. “I guess … I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

Casey rolled his eyes, knowing he was being manipulated. “What’s got your skirt in a bunch?”

“My skirt?” Chuck straightened to his full height, the place where he could almost touch noses with his boyfriend. “Besides the obvious crack at my manhood? Maybe I was crazy enough to think that after our –” and even his air quotes managed to be sarcastic – “talk in the parking lot, the day you had to save my ass, as you call it, –”

“Listen, Bartowski, if you’re planning on reeling through the play-by-play, I don’t have the time for this, so get your –”

“I’ll get to the punch line then. You’re being a complete asshole.” 

Casey squared his shoulders, intimidating glare locked on him. “I’m counting to five.” 

“Five whole seconds, Major? Geez, thanks.” Since that was about as far as he could push it before being restrained to a headboard, Chuck sagged just a little, making himself a less pleasing target. “This is it then.” He touched his fingers to Casey’s forearm, brushing back and forth a few times. “I meant I’m disappointed that you don’t have faith in me.”

Casey grunted, this one sounding skeptical, but his jaw seemed to soften. “Listening.”

“I know these past few weeks haven’t been stellar, okay? And nothing like the past five months.” Chuck lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “But I apologized more times than I can count. And in some very creative – okay, maybe stupid ways.”

Casey snorted derisively. But Chuck caught a beginning of a smile. A real one, the first time in two weeks, and it may have contained a hint of an apology. “I’m guessing there’s a point here,” the agent said, glimpsing at his watch. “And you need to make it.”

Chuck thought it over, wasting one of those precious seconds. “I’m not going to lose you over a mission, okay? You see, it’s a little crazy to think it after all of this, but –” God, what his wrong with him? Just get it out. “I love you. There. I said it.” Was it the first time? “And I’m not going to take a risk like that. Destroying … whatever it is that we still have between us.”

Casey didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. If his expression was unreadable before, now the emotional debris under the surface was slammed tight. Even Ellie would be confused by his face. 

Chuck sighed. “So, go ahead.” He held up his wrists one more time. “You’re not solving a damn thing, but if it makes you sleep at night, well then, pick one for me. Because it really doesn’t matter, does it?

The blue of his irises darkened, veins of cracked glass lingering on Chuck’s face. After a beat or two, he looked down at the kid’s hands and stuffed the steel cuffs in his pocket. Casey backed up a step. “You,” he said in a voice as low as gravel, “don’t disappoint me.”

Chuck felt his chest loosen from holding a breath for too long. “I won’t,” he replied, and down to his soul, that was the truth. “Same goes.”

That look was back in his eyes. Scars, wounds, something that made him mortal. And maybe knowing this, Casey looked away, began busying himself with his tac bag that was sitting on one of the chairs. He didn’t look up. “I can’t be watching your scrawny ass today. Stay out of trouble.” One thumb made a jab towards the couch. “Stick around here.”

“Well, I … kind of made some plans today.”

Casey zipped the bag shut and looked up with narrowed eyes. “What kind of plans?”

“Before I answer that, are you asking as my boyfriend or my handler?”

“Does that matter?”

“Sort of.”

“Are you being a smartass?” Casey asked.

“Sorry, but clarity here could determine what level of detail you get.”

Casey lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his black polo. “Boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend version. Got it.” Chuck smiled, a little skittish, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. This, he could do. After all, he had been working on this part all week. “Well, you see, Morgan and I –”

“This involves the moron?”

“– are taking his comic book collection to ‘Capes and Collectibles’. They have, uh, free appraisals today, and I guess the girl across the street from his mother’s is selling her moped, so Morgan is considering moving up to electric powered transportation rather than the pedal variety, so –”

“This had better end quickly,” Casey muttered, becoming hard ass again, “or so help me God, both of you will get cuffed to the –”

“Anywaaaay.” Feeling braver, Chuck briefly stuck his tongue out at him, since Casey wasn’t taking him seriously. “We’ll spend a few hours there, and Morgan says he has a coupon for a new wonton joint across from the mall, so he wants to check it out –”

“Bartowski.” Casey leaned in close, bumping his arm on Chuck’s chest. “Did you just stick out your tongue at me?”

“So, more clarity: are you asking that question as my handler or boyfriend?”

Casey seemed to consider the options. “Handler.”

“Then, no tongue.” 

“Heh.” Chuck could see Casey beginning to grin, the one that starts slow and gets, well kind of … sexy. “Gotta leave.” A slap on the hip got Chuck to step out of the way. “I have to meet my team at the seventy-first. Outside of Castaic.”

“Oh, okay.” Chuck couldn’t help but feel a stab of frustration. They were almost talking, and now Casey had to leave. Might as well say the rest. “I thought I was your team.”

Casey set down the bag and turned. Reaching out his arm, he pulled Chuck in abruptly, eyes getting intent. The man moved with dangerous grace, the warmth of his breath giving Chuck goose bumps. Strong fingers dipped under the waistband of his jeans, tugging the kid until knees and thighs brushed together. Still, Casey wouldn’t talk. Of course. But he did tip his head and slide their lips together, pressing in harder, following with his tongue. Coaxing him to open, Chuck complied immediately, tasting spice layered with saltiness and this morning’s coffee. A quick inhale and they fit together. He was finally kissing him. 

He missed it, the way Casey took his time, stroking his jaw, holding him still. Giving him a little groan of raw enjoyment, Chuck got bolder, skimming his knuckles along the outside of his shirt, then up and under to bare skin. 

The hand at the back of his head tightened, fingers entwined in messy waves to steady his grip. 

So maybe there was a chance he missed it, too. 

Casey pulled free, and whatever Chuck was going to say came out in thick drags of air. 

“Be good,” the NSA agent murmured. He turned, slung the tac bag over his shoulder, and walked out.

In what bizarre universe did a man ignore his lover for days on end, and kiss him like that? And leave? He should feel anger, but that wasn’t it at all. He was still trembling from the kiss.

Be good, he had said. If only Casey knew, the plans he had made with Morgan … all of it was a lie. 

Slumping against the countertop in relief, Chuck looked at the door and shook his head. Gradually, a crooked smile spread over his face.

Casey was gone. Operation Brick Wall had commenced.

-x-End Way Back Fifteen-x-


	22. Chapter Sixteen

Casey vs. the Way Back

(Chapter Sixteen)

-x-

A blue and white bandana. Chuck had to smile, despite being covered in sticky sweat, easy slow drops trickling through splotches of grease and dirt, forming tracks through the smudges on his chest and cheeks. He hadn’t meant to be nosy, but now, lying flat on his back and sprawled over the front seat of the Vic, the glove box was at his eye level, meaning he couldn’t help but turn the latch to pop it open. Just to take a cursory look at the contents. 

The bandana, wadded up in the back, was the only object that didn’t seem to make sense. Still grinning, he fished it out and examined the cloth, threading it between his fingers, then twisted it into a band and tied it around his forehead. At least it would keep the drips of sweat from rolling into his eyes. Because why, of all days, did today have to be an unseasonable scorcher for mid-May? 

Chuck repositioned his legs, awkwardly dangling out of the driver’s side door, and collected the two screws he had placed on the floor mat. If he remembered the diagram – why did he leave it resting on the ground at the front of the car? – the last step was to insert the locking collar around the lever and slide the panel back into place. Wow. It worked. The kid ran his fingers under the steering column to ensure the screw was flush. Not bad for a nerd, he thought with a tiny bit of self-satisfaction. 

Chuck sighed and took a minute to rest, looking up at the fabric ceiling of the Vic. How much more time did he have? An hour at the most. He had to get moving if he was going to clean up the mess. 

“This is what it feels like to be a hobbit,” he said, grumbling to himself. It took some adjustment of long lanky arms and legs, but he managed to put his feet on the ground, and began to slide down the narrow front seat.

His knees bumped into something. Something hard. Unyielding. His first thought was that it could be a tree, but since he was certain there were no redwoods springing up between cracks in the parking lot, it could only be one thing.

“Bartowski.”

Oh, hell. Later, perhaps when they were having a good laugh over this, he would remember why it was such a great idea to touch Casey’s car.

But not now. Scrambling, Chuck lunged up from his sprawl over the seat. Which meant he wasn’t paying attention to the rearview mirror until his head smacked into it. “Shit.” He rubbed his abused forehead furiously as he realigned the mirror. “Ow, ow, ow….”

Casey rested a hand on top of the car and bent down, peering inside. “Why don’t you get the hell out of there before you kill yourself, eh?” Or I kill you, the tone implied. He moved out the way, letting Chuck climb out, never shifting his gaze from the kid’s smudged face.

Chuck stretched his legs and looked down at himself. An hour ago, bathed in sweat with the sun beating on the back of his neck, he had ditched his shirt, leaving it on the ground next to Casey’s tools. Now, he stood in front of his boyfriend wearing a pair of low slung jeans, bare-chested, grungy and dirty. 

“I can explain,” he said quickly, raising his hands, palms up defensively.

Casey took his time inspecting him, letting his eyes stroll over his face, down to his pale chest. Then he angled his head towards his baby. “Can’t wait to hear it,” he managed between his teeth. “Though, I gotta give you credit on this one, sport. Most of the shit you do in your spare time just makes me wanna shoot things. But this? This one has me scratching my head. And frankly, pissing me off.” 

“First, the look on your face makes the last part redundant. Second, before you yell at me … this.” Chuck leaned in and kissed the scowl off his face, keeping it quick since his body was dirty and gross. “I’m glad you’re back safely, and I hope we have one less chemistry lab freak to worry about.”

Casey shrugged. That appeased him for the time being. “FBI has him in custody,” he replied distantly. At the same time, his eyes traveled over the car from tip to stern – looking for a door ding or even a blemish, Chuck guessed. Instead of immediately throttling him, as the kid thought he might, Casey picked up a screwdriver and pointed it, his blue eyes set to ice. “Two things, Bartowski. One, what the hell do you think you’re doing touching my car –”

“I can explain –”

“And two,” Casey broke in, looking him over head to toe and stopping when his eyes caught sight of the bandana, “why are you dressed like the lead singer of Loverboy?”

Chuck looked confused for a few seconds. “Uh, who?”

“Jesus,” Casey muttered, rubbing his chin. “Never mind.”

“Wait. It’s the bandana, isn’t it?”

Casey rolled his eyes and grunted. “Explain.”

“Okay.” Chuck glanced furtively at the Vic before stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “Well,” he said at last. “I … fixed your car.”

“You … what?”

“You know, I fixed it.”

“Last time I checked, you only knew how to fix things that had a power on switch.” Casey tilted his head at him. “Again. Explain.”

“Well, it was my fault.”

“What … was your fault?”

Chuck looked down at his feet. His shoulders twitched with the uncomfortable weight of dragging this out. “Look … I don’t know the story behind it – and I’m not asking, really – but when we got back, you had to go get her out of hock or something. I can only guess that it had to do with the night … that I don’t want to talk about, but there were these screechy noises after that.”

“Screechy noises?”

“Like this.” Chuck put his lips together and did his best imitation of a cat in a blender. “Those noises,” he said. “And I couldn’t help but notice that you winced every time you started her up since then … but with the mission, and setting up Castle after it was emptied out, the sales job … and being my handler, you didn’t have time to fix it.” Chuck stopped to wipe at an oil stain on his jeans. “So, I did.”

“You,” Casey growled, “don’t know how to fix a car.”

“No … I don’t. That’s true. But someone named Chilton –”

“It’s not a person –”

“Well, they know a lot about cars and how to repair them.” Chuck shrugged. “And, I happen to be pretty good with an instruction manual, so … I fixed your car.” 

“Manuals,” Casey said in a tone reserved for NPR. ‘And nerds’ was the part he left off. Guardedly, he strolled around to the front of the car and leaned over the engine. When Casey looked to the side, he caught sight of the service manual laying there on the ground. “Where did you get that, anyway?”

“That was a team effort.” Chuck scooped it up and flipped through a few pages. “It seems your girl is not the most popular make and model, I might add. I called the library, and they said it could be ordered from another branch in their network and I could pick it up. But when I decided that you might try to track me, thanks to the leash,” and a sarcastic smile spread on his face as he pointed to his watch, “I asked Morgan to pick it up for me.”

“The moron.”

“Who happens to be my best friend. Yes, that one.” Chuck leaned on the side of the car, crossing his arms a little self-consciously over his bare chest. “I read. I saw. I conquered.”

Casey made another skeptical sound. Turning away from the engine, he edged closer to the kid in that predatory way of his. “What … exactly … did you do, Bartowski?”

“Um, well.” The rubber belts were laying on an old towel, spread out on the pavement next to the tire. Chuck tipped his head at them. And, just to be safe, he backed up a step. “I replaced a few … fuses and the fan belt. Oh, wait. And the serpentine belt.”

“Serpentine?”

“Don’t blame me. It was in the manual. See for yourself.”

Casey was too busy glaring at him to take the manual out of his hand.

This was the moment of truth, Chuck thought, and his heart rate kicked up. “Why don’t you go ahead and start her up?” he suggested. “The keys are in there.”

“Sure you want to be here for this?” Casey asked. “You may want to get a running head start, eh?”

“What? No faith in my ability to handle your V-8?” 

“Eight?” Casey snorted, and then mumbled under his breath, “Better check your tape measure, goddess.” 

“But the manual – oh.” Great. Now he was blushing under the grease and sweat. “Keep it down, will you?” Chuck choked, brows flying up. “My sister could be right around the corner, you know.”

Casey chuckled, obviously satisfied with getting a reaction out of him. The amusement faded, however, by the time he climbed behind the wheel. 

While Casey took an eternity to get settled in, Chuck couldn’t help but hide a flinch at the twenty-eight ways this could go horribly wrong. He hid his case of nerves by tugging down on the bandana – yes, it probably did look stupid – sopping up the perspiration on his cheeks, and then wiping it over his neck. Lastly, he sent a prayer to the ether. 

And the Ford Motor Company. 

Casey turned the key the exact millisecond the uh-oh rang in Chuck’s head. But like a tamed beast, the engine responded with a familiar whir of pistons and gaskets … and no cats in a blender. 

Relief flooded him. “Holy … sh – it worked,” Chuck murmured. “I can’t believe ….” He repressed a victory dance, but a fist pump out of Casey’s line of sight was in order. “How does it sound?” Proud that he kept his voice nonchalant, the kid poked his head around the side of the hood. “I didn’t hear a large boom or anything, hmm, big guy?”

Casey lowered the sun visor to block the blazing grin Chuck had locked and loaded in his direction. “Don’t get cocky, kid,” he said, getting out of the car. “Haven’t street tested her yet. She may kickback that belt and cough it up like a cat with hairball if you didn’t align it just right.” 

“Or she could be fine,” Chuck corrected, still beaming. “And that would mean I fixed your car.”

Casey bit down on the inside of his mouth, apparently considering his point. He picked up a wrench that was lying on a towel next to the hood, twiddling it between his fingers, and then leaned back against the car. Shrewd eyes examined him for a stretch. “Is that why you did it?” Casey asked, his eyes never leaving the kid. “To fix things?”

Chuck tried not to squirm under that gaze, though it wasn’t helping that a great deal of sweat was rolling down his ribcage. “Well, no … I told you … it was just that I noticed, and I couldn’t help but think that was my fault … too.” He had to cringe at how pathetic that sounded. To cover his clumsiness, the kid squatted down hastily and began scraping up the mishmash of tools he had used, returning them to the toolbox. “Besides, fix things?” He didn’t look up from fitting the tools in the slots. “Nothing with the indomitable, and may I add incredibly stubborn John Casey, is that simple.”

“That doesn’t go there.”

“What?” Chuck put his hands on his knees and shifted his gaze up. “It doesn’t …?”

“The Phillips screwdriver goes in the pocket. Next to the slotted one.”

“Okay.” Chuck swallowed, still staring at him. “I didn’t realize there was a method to it.”

“Here. Give it to me.” Long legs knelt down, bringing Casey to his eye level, and a strong hand took the screwdriver out of his fingers. Chuck watched those hands, moving with trained precision – the way he did everything – as Casey stashed away each tool and snapped the lid shut. “Keep your damn paws off,” he said, not bothering to look at him.

For some inexplicable reason, in the few seconds it had taken Casey to put away the mess – yes, he had made a mess, Chuck told himself – the kid had barely breathed. Because something had shifted in Casey’s expression, far away and different. 

A mistake. Chuck couldn’t help watching his body language – all that tightening of muscles – and it only made his stomach bottom out. He’d screwed up. Why the hell did he even think about touching his car? Casey probably had Day of the Week chamois cloths folded neatly in his trunk, and this was a good idea? Oh, God, no.

Next to him, Casey stuffed the toolbox under his arm and stood up, sending Chuck to his feet right behind him. “Listen, Casey,” Chuck said, putting a hand on his arm. “You should probably … well, not – what I’m trying to say is –”

“Jesus, Bartowski. Can it.” At least he had the courtesy to pull his arm away gently instead of jerking it from his hold. Besides, it wasn’t the motion that hurt. 

Didn’t he fix it? Surprised – but not – by the lack of any damn thing, Chuck watched while Casey wordlessly stowed the tool box in the trunk before walking back to the front of the car. Any reassurance that he thought was coming wilted as Casey moved in closer and folded his arms over his chest, giving him a hard stare.

“Uh, can I help clean up?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Care to explain what this is about?”

Chuck lowered his head to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, no. I’m not explaining … this. I just have a favor to ask.”

Casey narrowed his gaze. “Yeah?”

“I need forty-five minutes to two hours to take care of something in the apartment,” Chuck said, picking up his t-shirt and stuffing it in his waistband. It would only stick to him like glue if he attempted to slide it on with his back drenched. “So I’d really appreciate it if you’d avoid going home until I give the all clear.”

Casey huffed. “Whatever that’s about, you are explaining.”

Chuck shook his head and waved apologetically in the direction of the apartment. “I made a mistake, okay? You were right a minute ago. I thought I could fix things between us. I thought if I showed you … in way that was supposed to be more than just steel and chrome … well, that you would get it. I was stupid, alright?” He paused to use the bandana, now slung around his neck, to wipe a smear of WD-40 off his upper chest. “I need to go clean it up.”

“Clean ... up what, sport?”

“The … thing.” His voice wavered slightly. Why in the world did Casey have to get back so early? Was it really necessary to be so damned efficient when it came to ridding the earth of pond scum? “It’s like this ….” Chuck looked at the car to avoid Casey’s sea blue eyes, studying him intently. “It’s nothing. I told you, it’s all crazy anyway and no big deal and I shouldn’t have –”

“Any other time, Bartowski? It’s like there’s ten words for every required one.” Casey straightened, shuffled closer, making Chuck step back until he realized he had trapped himself against his inanely shiny car. “And now? When I want you to talk? Tongue-tied.” The agent shook his head and slanted his upper body inward, close. Close enough for the kid to feel warm breath on his cheek, the heat of his skin against his arm, sending a shiver over his flesh. “Show me.”

“Uh, no.” Chuck fought down the jitters by folding his arms over his chest. “I still think we can avoid the humiliation segment of this plan if you go back to Castle and beat the crap out of your practice dummy for a few hours and forget about this.”

Casey eyeballed him, making no acknowledgement of his obstinate stance. “Inside, Bartowski,” he ordered. “We are going to see this surprise of yours.” 

“Have you listened to anything I’ve – hey. Hey!”

In Casey’s estimation, listening was overrated. Because without waiting for the babble, he lifted a hand, looped one of his fingers around the bandana – and pulled. Chuck felt the ridiculous, sweaty bandana dig into his neck, and realized he was being given a choice. Walk or … trot to keep up. “Let’s go,” Casey said, turning towards the apartment with Chuck stumbling on his heels. “Pick up those hind legs, eh?”

“Hind legs? Am I missing something, or is the insinuation – hey!” Okay, it didn’t hurt at all – but it was a matter of pride. Damn him! “Are you – insane? You can’t just – It’s not a leash, you know!” An ugly vision of the Buy More parking lot and being dragged by an angry boyfriend hit him right then. Well, there was no way in hell he was going to let this happen again. Chuck arched backwards and dug in his heels. “Let go. Please.”

Casey turned and dropped his hand as if a furnace had burned his fingers. 

That … worked? Huh. 

Except for the fact that after Casey dropped the bandana, he cocked his head to the side and stared, still angry. “First my car, now this. What’s your game, Bartowski?”

“My game? You … you are so damn frustrating!” Chuck began pacing back and forth, pushing his hands through his hair. Gross. The dampness had plastered the messy waves to his forehead, making his fingers tangle in sweat. “That’s not … don’t you know it’s not okay just to be so –”

“So what?” 

Oh. Crap. 

Chuck sucked in a breath and let it out. God, he doesn’t get it. But the kid resigned himself to the truth; that Casey’s tenacity would steamroll him if he didn’t just show him and get it over with. “Okay, okay, but we’ll do this on my terms. Same as before,” Chuck said, giving him a sad sort of smile. “Boyfriend or handler. Pick one.”

There was uncertainty whether his – whatever – would be willing to play this game again. Could the agent make this more uncomfortable? Considering the options, Casey’s attention flicked down briefly, lingering on Chuck’s mouth, lower to his grease-smudged sweaty chest and ribcage. “Boyfriend,” he replied in a low voice.

And maybe there was now a slight chance he wouldn’t be sleeping in the prisoner containment area of the Vic tonight. 

Chuck cleared his throat. “Good … good. I’ll take that as concurrence. But it will be like this. Not the dragging and pulling thing you seem to enjoy.” He unfolded his arms, held out a hand, and wagged his fingers at him. “Well?”

Casey eyed his open palm.

“Are you going to … take it?” Chuck put on a wheedling smile, nodded down at his hand. “You want to see it, right?”

Casey, caught off guard for a reason Chuck could not begin to fathom, at first let his hands drop to his side, narrowing his eyes at the outstretched olive branch. Nothing. Chuck wondered how many seconds should pass by, with his palm dangling out there, before he should wipe it down his pant leg.

This was embarrassing. But as he started to pull back, Casey reached out, warily taking his hand. His fingers clenched, not enough to cause pain, but enough pressure to tell the kid he wasn’t getting his hand back any time soon. Maybe this was a good sign?

Or Chuck thought so, until Casey used the grip to pull him within a hairsbreadth, and said into his ear, “Surprised you’d want to offer up the hand that touched my car. With tools.” 

“Hah. You know, I’m trying to decide if that’s humor, or if – ow.” Chuck had tried to pull his hand back, but Casey already anticipated that maneuver by squeezing it just a bit tighter. “Casey, listen. I’m rethinking my idea –”

“Walk, Bartowski.” Casey did, however, loosen the iron-fisted grip, and suddenly, it was as close to holding hands as he could remember, at least since the ‘Bryce Incident’ on the tarmac. And just as he remembered, it felt … safe, strong. Nice. 

Chuck slanted him a look and squeezed down on his fingers, silently letting him know it was comfortable like this. “I should, uh, warn you, though,” he said, his other hand adjusting the t-shirt hanging from his waistband. “You need to rearrange your expectations. Downward, that is. It really isn’t that big of a deal – I mean, it doesn’t compare with the magnitude of the day your new mini gun arrived from Fort Meade, or even on the scale of –”

“You’re stalling. And babbling, which I gotta say is annoying the hell out of me.”

“Sheesh. Impatience. What a surprise.” Chuck rolled his eyes, secretly pleased – well, shocked – that Casey seemed curious. With one last look, he turned towards the stone arches that led to the courtyard. “Follow me then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Now that he thought about it, this would draw attention from the nosy neighbors in 204. The nerdy looking curly-haired kid from 107 was bare-chested, a bit greasy, and currently tugging his Kodiak-sized boyfriend through the courtyard towards their apartment. 

Yes, eyebrows would get in a workout today.

But this one time, luck was on his side, Chuck figured, because as he schlepped Casey behind him, the courtyard was empty. More thankfully, there was no Ellie. Or Awesome. Only the soft trickling of the fountain, thin streams of water spilling out of the upper tiers, forming a dappled pattern over the shallow pool’s surface. 

That in contrast to the trickle of perspiration crawling down his neck. Taking a breath, Chuck pushed the door open, still hauling Casey along for the ride. “Now, when you do see it, just remember it’s not my fault you got home early.” 

“So … instead, you’re blaming the Unabomber Wannabe for being a dumbass? Heh.” Casey shot him a look before his eyes shifted from the couch, the bank of computers on the desk, to his steel gun case in the corner. Chuck could almost see him doing a mental calculation of the place, using his agent senses to determine what was out of order. Finally, he turned to Chuck with a blank expression. “I give up on this one, ace,” he said, inclining his head towards the TV. “Unless I’m supposed to be surprised by the fact that you put away your video games.”

“Funny. Again.” Chuck was immediately thankful he had remembered to stash them away before he started working on the car. “I should let you know, however, that this isn’t the surprise. It’s, uh, in the … kitchen,” the kid added, his cheeks flushing.

“My … kitchen?”

Chuck fiddled with the damn bandana, trying to buy some time. “Okay, here’s the deal: for the past five months, I’ve always thought of it as our kitchen. Which means, if I want to – wait. Where are you going?” Before the kid could move, Casey rounded the corner past the dining nook, heading for his kitchen. Chuck loped after his boyfriend, arms waving. “This would be the appropriate time, sweetie, for me to let you know that the full extent of this particular surprise is –”

“What … the … hell?” Casey pulled up short, and froze. Eyes scanned the room. Then, because one swear wasn’t enough, he let loose a string of colorful and nimble curses in one breath. 

Now was not the time, but Chuck wanted to remind his boyfriend that he would have to be an Olympic gymnast – or Bryce Larkin – in order for his limbs to do even a tenth of what Casey was suggesting he could go do. 

He couldn’t think about it too much. As Chuck glimpsed to the side, a bit wary, he started to touch a hand over Casey’s back, an obvious reassuring gesture – until he saw his face. The agent’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed as they swept over every inch of the holy-hell mess. 

Dirty pots. Mixing bowls stacked in the sink. His favorite chef’s knife, which he kept sharpened to perfection, lying on the cutting board with slivers of raw garlic and onion stuck to it. Oh, and the plastic packaging the serpentine belt came in. Oops.

“It’s not what you think.”

Casey raked his fingers through his hair, and in some way, Chuck was reminded of a lion preparing to snack on a gazelle. Purposefully, he seemed to tauten each muscle along his arms like rippling water, and then turned to face him. “Explain,” he said.

Chuck blanched and put his hands in his pockets. “Uh, surprise?”

“Bartowski.” With his eyes locked on the red goo adhering to the top of his stove, Casey slowly folded his arms over his chest. “Question.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Exactly what part … of you dirtying every pot and pan in the kitchen and leaving it for me to clean up … is a goddamn surprise?”

“Now, before you get mad –”

“Oh, we’re way past that, champ.” Wow. Among the vast array of his spy (and non–spy skills alike), Casey could talk without moving his lips, teeth gritted.

“This is bad, okay. I get it. I do. Now, if you weren’t as efficient with the bad-guy-smack-down move, that would’ve given me the time I needed to, let’s say, tidy up?” 

“The mission was at Castaic.” Casey paused to survey the disaster zone of what had to be every cooking tool in the usually neat-as-a-pin kitchen, down to a puree sieve and his marble pestle, now sitting on the countertop. “Not Beijing. How long did you think I was going to be gone?” 

“I promise I’ll clean it up. Every pot and pan and, well, other things that have obscure or ambiguous uses.” Chuck attempted to smile, and bracing himself, he touched his boyfriend lightly over the elbow. “Deal?”

Casey just gave him a look. 

“Okay.” Chuck glimpsed down at the grime on his chest and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I think this is the part where I go get cleaned up before –”

“Hold on. I thought you said there’s something else.” Casey shifted a step or two, becoming a suitable roadblock in the doorway. “Then you can clean up, eh?”

Despite everything, Chuck couldn’t help but brighten at his hint of interest. Unless … that was suspicion. “I do …. It’s not so great but …. Here.” His hand slid up, wrapping around Casey’s forearm, and he tugged him over to the counter. “Stand there. Please. Oh, and close your eyes.” 

Casey rolled his eyes first, but obeyed. “Is this the part where you tell me you also found time today to bend the laser sight on my back-up SIG?”

“For the record, I didn’t touch any big guns today.”

“Heh.”

Now, Chuck rolled his eyes – after he blushed a bit. “Okay, keep them closed.” When he waved a hand in front of Casey’s face with no reaction, the kid opened the refrigerator and took out a large, deep dish pan. He set it on the counter next to his boyfriend and removed the lid. “Voila,” he said, sounding uneasy. “That was the surprise. Not the current state of the kitchen.”

Casey opened his eyes and peered down at the pan, wheels spinning as he examined the contents. At first, he was silent for a moment. “Kid?” and he looked over to see Chuck’s lips in a half-smile.

“Yeah?”

“Did you thank your big sister for that?”

“Nope. I have a lot to thank her for but this isn’t one of those things.” Feeling some pride, he squared his shoulders and stretched to his full height, looking Casey dead set in the eyes. “I made it.”

“You … made that.” Casey unfolded his arms and leaned back on the counter, shaking his head. “I suppose you think I should believe that?” he said, and in the back of Chuck’s brain, he had the niggling thought that Casey was teasing him, only because there was a twitch curling the corner of his mouth. “I thought you only knew how to use a can opener or a two for one pizza coupon.”

“A non-believer in the ability of all things nerd, I see.” Chuck pretended to be miffed at him for the lack of confidence, though he was biting his lips to stop a blazing smile. “Stand back. Observe. Learn.” The kid turned back to the refrigerator, but instead of opening it, he used his God-given gift of long arms to open the cupboard above it. “You see, about a month ago, Morgan and I were looking for a pan –”

“– shoulda known.”

“– to heat up leftover pizza, and while we were looking through the cupboards –”

“The moron was going through my kitchen –”

“Um.” Chuck sped up through this part of the story. “Anyway, instead of finding a pan, I found this.” He signaled with his hand and forced a smile … 

… because this was the one part of the plan, the unavoidable but tiny – miniscule really – chink in the dam that Casey was perhaps not going like. 

Following the hand motion, Casey veered his head up at the cupboard. It only took a beat for his eyes to go dark, the look he has when he’s figuring how many ways he can ditch the body without leaving evidence.

Not good. 

“I can explain. You see, this had nothing to do with infringing upon your privacy – because, I get it. I do. I know that even though our relationship probably allows me freedoms into certain places that no one has seen – well, not all places – you do have peculiar boundaries after all, but – Gah.” 

And like that, one of Casey’s hands landed next to his head, the other closer to his middle, caging the kid in between them. It was a proximity usually reserved for activities that were way more fun, Chuck thought, feeling the cool press of the refrigerator behind his back. 

Okay, correction. He was most definitely not going to like this part of the plan. 

Chuck plastered on his most formidable brown-eyed look, setting the dial to confused innocence, which usually did the trick. “Listen, sweetie –”

“That’s twice, Bartowski, and don’t even think I’m not counting–”

“Fine. But I know those were probably hidden up there for a reason … and right now, you might be a little –”

“Did the little troll find ‘em?” Casey closed in on the final millimeter that separated their bodies. “Get a good laugh at my expense?”

“No! It was nothing like that. He didn’t even see them. He was down there, looking under the sink when I opened it! Trust me, your reputation as the Buy More bully is firmly intact. Morgan still thinks you’re the meanest hard ass that has ever donned the green. He … he even designed a sniper in one of our games that has a scary resemblance –”

“– the hell?”

“And he’s still completely perplexed but wholly supportive of our co-habitation and long term relationship.” Feeling braver after the outburst, Chuck slipped two fingers into Casey’s waistband and joggled him, fingers idly caressing the outside of his shirt, giving him a coaxing smile. When the scowl didn’t budge, he tipped his head and kissed the end of his nose. “Honest,” he said, his voice low. “Okay? You’re overall terrifying reputation is still intact.” 

Casey grunted, a noise that reverberated in his throat. He didn’t back up, however, and the low rumble resonated into Chuck’s chest, startling him with a realization that Casey was finally pressed to him. It coaxed a jagged ache in his belly, the reminiscence of his touch before things went to hell. Maybe compulsively, or out of anger, Casey now stood near enough to smell his aftershave, his woodsy scent. There was the familiar smooth scrape of his arms against his, trapping him between them, thighs and knees brushing together. Out of nowhere, Chuck felt a brief hard shudder at the accidental touch, blaming it on the frustration. Not need or yearning ache. 

No, that wasn’t it. 

He wet his lips and looked past him. “And nothing’s been damaged, everything’s back where it was –”

“You’re nervous,” Casey said coolly, long fingers swishing back and forth at the bare skin of his middle. “What is it?” Something occurred to him, and he looked over his shoulder. “Is that moron here? Is that why you’re trembling like a schoolgirl?”

God, he felt like an idiot. Chuck tried to put an inch or two between them, turning indignant when Casey dipped his fingers into his jeans and tugged, only to hold him there. “No, that’s not it. He is most definitely not here. He thinks we’re … uh, well ….”

Casey put his other thumb under the kid’s chin, steering his face up. “Spit it out.”

“Just remember, it’s not my fault.” Chuck swatted gently at Casey’s hand and took a deep breath. “Right about now, Morgan would not be here because he … thinks we’re having sex,” he mumbled, giving a fleeting look at his nerdy black watch. “Lots of it. And even Morgan knows there are boundaries when it comes to the –”, and Chuck lifted his hands in air quotes, “– ‘copious amounts of booty swack’. Okay?”

Casey kept his blue eyes fixed on Chuck’s face. “Let me get his straight, kid,” he said, and in one heart-stopping move, a large hand landed on the kid’s shoulder, holding him flat. “Your brilliant plan to somehow make peace meant what exactly? First, you decided to use hand tools on my car –”

“Which is fixed, I might add –”

“– and then decided to discuss our sex life –”

“– or lack thereof –”

“– with your midget bearded elf pal –”

“He would never tell Jeff or Lester about this –”

“Tell them?” Instinctively, Casey’s other hand clamped down on his wrist. “Does your girlfriend know I can kill him with my bare hands?” he asked, deathly quiet. “Bludgeon him with a price gun in aisle five? Sever his liver with a bent spork in the break room?”

Chuck blinked away the image. “I’m fairly certain his fear of you has been solidified after the rolling ladder incident.”

His boyfriend looked like he wanted another crack at the ladder right about now, but after a second even the most stubborn man on the planet seemed to grasp that he was being slightly unreasonable. Casey lowered the hand that was at Chuck’s middle, clenched lightly into his hip, and brushed his thumb over his belly. Slow. Contemplating, controlling the moment with a touch, strong fingers that could bruise without the precise restraint that coiled beneath the surface. The kind of torment that usually led to a far different appeasement than this.

Chuck stilled, letting him touch the bare skin above his jeans. Relishing a bit of warmth after a two-week drought. When Casey drew his hand around the kid’s stomach and down, it landed on the t-shirt Chuck had shed in the heat, now tucked into his waistband. The agent fingered the soft fabric in his palm for a long minute, gave him a sexy little squeeze on his ass, then looked up. “Why don’t you show me what you did?”

Chuck’s eyes cut up to his face, and he had to blink a few times when he saw Casey wasn’t being an asshole about this, toying with him. He really wanted to know. “Well, to start with,” the kid replied, shooting him a cocky grin. “You can learn a lot about a man from his … personal cookbook collection.” 

“Such as?” Casey asked, glancing over Chuck’s head at the neat row in the cupboard. 

“Okay, but you’ll have to move.” Not that he wanted him to. The last five minutes had given him a flush – after the initial entrapment and growls, that is. When Casey slid back a step, Chuck wormed out of the tight spot and picked up the cookbook that he had been referencing, left next to the cutting board on the counter. “Well, noticing the way you fold back certain pages, I can make several inferences. Using my newly-honed Bond skills, of course.” 

The agent snorted and rolled his eyes. A soft graze of fabric against his bare back, and he felt Casey come up behind him to look over his shoulder. “What exactly did you infer, Bartowski?” he asked, hands dropping on the counter, landing on either side of him. Well, that was wasted effort. Did Casey really think he would try to squirm away now? With warm breath that tickled the back of his neck? His fingers reflexively rubbing slowly at his waist …?

Oh, wait. The recipe.

“F-for one, you dislike cilantro and anything that requires grating ginger root. See? No folds. But garlic and fresh basil, lots of folds.” Chuck rifled the edge of the pages. “It was just a matter of finding the recipe with the fold but without the drips.”

“Drips?” Casey said low at his ear. “Gonna explain that piece of spy-work?”

Chuck took a steadying breath. Heat had a tendency to roll from Casey’s body, and with his chest almost pressed to the kid’s back, the slow burn warmed the bare skin of his shoulders, down his neck. “That’s right,” he said, swallowing hard. “It would mean that you would like to try the recipe, but haven’t had a chance yet because … well, you have a tendency to drip or … sometimes the pages are stuck together, so I know that’s one you tried.”

“Stuck together? Now what the hell are you inferring, tiger?” 

“Wait. I know that sound.” Chuck angled his head to the side and almost bumped Casey’s nose. “Did I say something amusing … or are you laughing at my –” He stopped to look down, a little discomfited by his grimy chest. “Because I really haven’t –”

“Jesus. Slow down.” Casey brought his hand around to the front, tugged him once, making him stumble against him. Which could be what he intended, just to ruffle him up a little. Then, he let his hand drop. “Just keep going, will you?”

“Well, okay. Right here,” Chuck said, pointing to page 73, not thinking of Casey’s arms resting next to him, or his chest in a thick line along his spine, his jeans pressed to the back of his thighs. No, not … at … all. “I went through the stack – that was after Morgan went home, I promise – and I found one that I thought you would like. So,” Chuck smiled and nudged his arm when he saw Casey was still staring down at the book, “I made it.”

“You … made something.” 

The slight skepticism alone made Chuck turn in the tight space between Casey and the countertop, and lift up on his tip toes. The kid tried not to give him an offended look. “Oh, ye of little faith. Remember, these hands are skilled in the art of fixing tiny electronic devices.” Chuck put on a know-it-all smirk which was usually part of Casey’s domain. “I think that’s what they call a transferable skill.”

“And with this skill, genius, you decided to test it out on … this?”

“Yep.” Chuck nodded at the pan he had taken out of the refrigerator. “Lasagna with turkey sausage, homemade tomato sauce, and four kinds of cheese – including caprina, which is an Italian goat cheese. Oh, wait. The cheese is Italian, not the goat, because I don’t think a domesticated goat has a national affiliation, do they? I think they’re more of –”

“You know something?” Casey’s hand slid up, and he looped his finger around the bandana, gave it a little yank, bringing Chuck in closer since his neck was at risk. “If you finish that sentence, I’m going to use the bandana as a gag.” 

“Which is why I’m done. Please. Continue.”

Casey glanced down at the pan before shooting him another look. “To make a long story short, your big secret is that you decided to surprise me by making some half-way decent looking food – and a hell of a mess,” he added. “That’s what all of this is about?”

Chuck twined his fingers around Casey’s wrist with one hand and began disengaging them from the bandana with the other. One by one. Wow. Not that he needed to be reminded, but Casey has damn strong fingers. Finally, the larger man seemed to acquiesce. The kid pulled back after the last finger dropped, and planted both feet, looking him in the eye. “We both know,” he said quietly, becoming serious, “this isn’t about … just slippery noodles and sauce.”

Casey took one step back, steadily looking at him. “Care to explain it to me?”

He knows. He knows exactly what this is about. Casey wants to hear him say it. 

Just get it over with already. 

Dark eyes drifted down, and Chuck ran a hand over the rigid band of muscles on his forearm. “You have to admit that since the beginning … of this,” and he waved his other hand awkwardly between them, “that your life has been consumed with taking care of Chuck.”

“That’s my job.”

“Your job.” The hurt was right there. How could he say it like that? There was a brief pause before Chuck could control his face – it had to be showing the bitterness he felt – until he reminded himself Casey had no idea what that sounded like to him. “I’m not talking about your job as my handler. Unless the people you’re hired to babysit have a habit of making you baked pasta?” Even Casey could hear the rancor in that. Sure enough, when Chuck looked up, Casey had bristled and backed up another step. “Sorry, that came out wrong.” He blew out a breath and closed his eyes for a second. “I meant your other job, John. Being my boyfriend? Because I’m sure by now with the way things have been going, it is a job.”

Casey tilted his head, and something altered in his expression. When he said nothing for several moments, Chuck felt like squirming. If he was silent now, they’d never cross the line where all was fair in love and war and the discussion of personal shit that never hit the surface.

He could hear Casey breathe, even as he stood there watching him. Lending exactly zilch to the conversation. 

Figures.

“Okay.” Chuck walked over to the oven, turning it on. “Listen, I’ve already admitted this was a bad idea, but we can at least have a good laugh over dinner.” He set the dial and turned around, looking down at his greasy self and dirty shoes. “Well … you can, anyway. I don’t think –”

“Taking care of Chuck ….” Casey said, looking at him directly. “You didn’t finish.”

“Hmm?”

“What else? I know you, Bartowski, and there was more.”

Chuck fidgeted with a dish cloth, crumpled it up, and sagged back against the stove. With Casey on the other side of the kitchen, some distance between them, there was air to breathe. Room to think. 

“Let’s face it,” Chuck pointed out, “You’ve spent five months – well, hell, you could think of it as a year and a half, taking care of me.” He held up a hand and counted off a few fingers. “Has Chuck been kidnapped today? Did he stumble into a Fulcrum cell? Maybe today was the day he decided to drive a helicopter, or –”

“Again, kid, those things are my job.” Casey straightened and stuffed a thumb in his pocket, long fingers draped over his hip. “What’s your point?”

“This part isn’t your job, though.” Chuck ran a hand over his face, the back of his neck. “When I moved in here and we decided to … do this –” and the hand waving seemed to fill in the blank one more time, “– you still took care of everything.” He managed a sad crooked smile that Casey did not return. “Right down to ridiculously delicious food on the table. Even Ellie’s jealous sometimes. So, I thought this would be a way to show you that I can … take care of you, too.” The smile faded, and Chuck looked away. “Stupid, huh? Now we’re back to the point where this is all a bad idea, because obviously, I can’t ….” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and busied himself with one of the pots, waited for him to say something. 

Waiting would be a long time if Casey’s expression was any barometer. He stood there stiffly, his face shutting down, giving away nothing.

Chuck dithered before telling himself to get a grip. Why did he expect anything more? “I ….” Can’t do this. There was a pause while he covered the lasagna with foil before making himself glance over his shoulder at him. “I was serious about the fact that I need you to give me some time to clean up this mess? You see, there’s this … other thing, and I need to take care of it, so the option of going to Castle and beating the crap out of something – hopefully without my likeness drawn on it – is still out there –”

“Other … thing,” Casey echoed. The kid strained to hear his movements, his footsteps, but the man could materialize like a ghost. That meant Chuck jumped when he realized Casey was standing behind him again. “What … thing?”

Chuck froze in the act of sealing the edges, and turned around. What the hell? He backed away, leaned against the kitchen doorframe, considered the stubborn man he loved. He couldn’t help but give him a face full of confusion. “What?”

Casey shook his head and strolled in another step, the kind that sent a spear of uneasiness through the kid’s chest. Now what? “The … thing, Bartowski?” Casey wondered. “You have to take care of what thing?”

“Are you serious? Because all of this has gone so damn swimmingly up until now?” Chuck walked to the sink and began washing the sludge off of his hands. “No thank you,” he muttered. “I’ve had about – whoa. What are you doing?”

Though it was obvious what he was doing. The insistent yank on his belt loop, right above the slope of his ass, forced the kid to back up into him – hard. When he did, Casey put an arm around Chuck’s waist and held him steady. “Where?” the agent asked.

Chuck lifted a shoulder and tried to wriggle out of his arms. No dice. Casey knew his stuff when it came to pinning down a foe – or his boyfriend apparently. “Sheesh.” The kid inclined his head so that Casey could see his exasperated look. “It’s … outside. In the apartment’s common area, if you have to know. Now, can I please finish –”

“Let’s see it.” Casey’s voice was low and hoarse, his cheek brushing the edge of his ear. “Show me.”

Not that he had a choice. Casey had settled on a target. Without warning, Chuck felt the arm draped around his waist tighten its hold, and before he could open his mouth to protest, he was being steered towards the back door. “Wait! What’re you –” The heels of his black Chucks dug in. Long skinny arms flailed, then grabbed on to the countertop to hold on –

Casey rolled his eyes, picked him up, and plopped him next to the back door. Problem solved, Chuck thought, scowling at him. 

“Uh, thanks. But I really could find it without the physical assistance.”

Casey shrugged. 

“Okay, okay,” Chuck huffed, pressing down on the door to keep it closed until he could say his piece. “A few things first. No laughing. Eye roll if you must, but preferably after I have my back turned. Keep your witticisms to a minimum and never speak of this within the four walls of the Buy More.” He squinted down at the streaks of oil over his stomach. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I need you to loosen up because – geez – can I have my shirt? It’s hanging right – what are you doing now?” 

As if it dangled there for the taking, Casey whipped the shirt out of his jeans and stuffed it under his arm. “Go,” he ordered, then gave him a slap on the ass when Chuck didn’t move fast enough. 

“Ow!” Chuck turned to him with a petulant look and rubbed his ass cheek. “Dammit, watch your hands.” 

“Need a map?” 

“Fine. You’ve been warned.” There was no stopping him, so Chuck pivoted on his heel and opened the door. “Follow me.” But he balked in the doorway. “Oh, hold on. You have to give me your hand again … because … well, I want you to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes….” Casey repeated, nudging him to move his scrawny ass.

“Yep, that’s the deal or no surprise.” Chuck held out his hand, curled his fingers a few times, and lifted his chin. “Well?”

Casey seemed to size it up, hesitating, then reluctantly put a large hand in Chuck’s outstretched palm. “Maybe you should warn me where the steps are, genius? Or was that the surprise?”

“Do you really think I would let you fall?” Chuck replied, circling his fingers. “Close them, okay?”

“Where are we going?” Casey sounded distrustful at having to approach this blind, but when Chuck nodded down at their joined hands and stood his ground, the agent closed his eyes. “Fine. Happy now?”

“Yes.” Chuck smiled, guiding him down the two stairs from their back deck to the lawn. “To answer your question, it’s not far. Just the apartment complex’s common area, actually.”

To his word, Casey kept his eyes shut, though Chuck could see his forehead wrinkle in confusion. And why not, because he had to be picturing himself being led blind amidst the green painted park benches, along a walking path, and past the wooden play structure built with donations from the residence’s association the year before. 

That was Ellie’s doing, of course. She had spearheaded the fundraising, worked with the volunteers, and even secured wholesale rates on the lumber.

This year’s project wasn’t as ambitious, but it made the stucco and cement building feel more like home. Simplistic. That was the genius of it.

Now, Chuck thought, pushing a hand through his hair, this could be his own project in a slanted, odd way. The fact that Casey might see it in the manner he intended made the kid forget about his sweat-plastered hair on his forehead or being without a shirt in a public area. Thankfully, a half-naked man pulling another man through the grassy small park wasn’t drawing a lot of attention.

“I feel like an idiot,” Casey said under his breath.

“Keep walking. We’re almost there.” Chuck turned to study his face, grinning that he was still playing along. “Just so you know, those eyes in the back of your head aren’t going to help you with this.”

Casey grunted, annoyed when his boot caught the edge of a rock. “Just get it over with.”

“We’re here.” Chuck squeezed his hand one more time before letting go. Well. It didn’t look like much, now that he was standing back objectively to survey his handiwork, but he had come this far. His aching muscles tensed, he tucked his hands in his back pockets, and gave Casey a nudge with his elbow. “Before you open your eyes, the ‘no laughing’ rule is still in effect.”

On cue, a pair of blue eyes slowly drifted opened. Fluttering against the bright light, Casey focused, and his brows drew down. If there was any emotion, it was buried under the fortress of brick. 

Note to self: so far, this plan sucks. 

“Casey?” The kid gazed at him, his hands tightening into fists in his pockets while he braced himself for snickering. And that was if he was lucky. “I think … this is the part where you’re supposed to say … something?”

Casey cocked his head to the side, his eyes traveling over the short bamboo fence at his feet, to the ground behind it. If any emotion was seeping out, Chuck had to label it as bewilderment. That came and went, however, as his look became implacably blank. After a few seconds, Casey crossed his arms over his black polo, not making eye contact. Then, he made a sound in his chest.

Chuck’s head swung to the side to look at him almost shyly, the way he was standing there. Sunlight brought every feature into sharp focus … long rigid curves of shoulders and back, hair just starting to curl over his collar, the muscular upper body of a street fighter, tightly strung like wire ….

Holy God, why was he thinking of this now? Because now was not the time to tell him he was a beautiful man. 

“Kid?”

“Oh.” Chuck blinked and wiped the moisture off his brow. “Y-yeah? What … what do you think?”

Casey nudged a dirt clod with the toe of his boot, surveying the tiny, neat landscape at his feet. “Remember how mystified I was when I saw you working on my car?”

“Uh, I was kind of hoping you would’ve forgotten?” Chuck glanced down and closed one hand over his, shaking it gently while he mustered up a smile. “Besides, this is nothing like that. This is communal property.”

All of those straight lines of his face hardened as he reached into his shirt pocket and fished out his Ray bans, sliding them on without blinking. With his tree trunk arms still folded in front of him, it only increased the bad ass aura by tenfold. “Can I ask you something, sport?”

Chuck mirrored his stance by folding his arms over his bare-chest, looking down modestly at pale skin and a dirt streak along his ribcage. A hot shower, at least, was in order after the laughing subsided. “I suppose, uh, you might want to know –”

“Why the hell,” he said, voice with a rough edge, “am I standing … in a vegetable garden?”

“And there it is.” Chuck was peeved but the other, smarter, part of him should’ve known better by now. “I have to go get cleaned up. My mistake.” Chuck nodded, just once, and turned to leave. 

Until the force of Casey’s fingers digging into his arm and spinning him around nearly twisted the kid out of his shoes. “Nuh-uh.”

Chuck pulled his arm back, irked at yet more manhandling – though he should’ve been used to it by now – and that the entire freaking day seemed to blow up in his face.

“Explain.” When Chuck attempted to wrench his arm out of his hold, Casey clamped down harder. 

For that, Chuck gave him a dirty look. “Do you have to be such a –”

Casey squinted. “A what?”

A big prick? Instead, Chuck winced. “You seemed to have misplaced your meat hooks in the vicinity of my arm. It’s not a handle, remember,” he pointed out, glaring at his psycho-assassin lover – because he so deserves that right now. “We’ve had the talk and everything, right?” 

“Explain.” Casey looped his finger under that damned bandana again, making him feel it with every swallow – God, this thing has to go – and towed him gently until the kid’s hip bumped up against him. When he spoke, he dropped his tone, though, softening a bit. “What is this?”

“I can’t take credit – well, for the overall idea,” Chuck said, biting down on his bottom lip. “That was Ellie’s. But the part that’s for you … yes, I guess I can take credit for that.”

“Ellie.” A tug, brushing his collarbone with his thumb, since Casey’s hand was still clenched around the cloth. He kept him close, leaning in until his lips were almost touching Chuck’s hair. “Your sister had something to do with this.”

Chuck flushed, his lashes sweeping down. “Urban gardening,” he said, nodding at the staked plants in rows. Then the kid stopped, giving Casey a chance to jump in and make a smart-ass comment. Because it was coming. Had to be.

Well, there was a funny thing about John Casey. He looked like he didn’t know what to say to that.

“So,” Chuck went on carefully, “we were talking one night last week, after work – you were gone again – and she … brought me down here to show me her latest project. The vegetable garden.” 

“Vegetables plants,” Casey repeated in the way only a black-ops killer could say it. Like Chuck and his happy-ass garden could be the enemy in this situation, but he hadn’t decided yet how to handle them. “This … is what you wanted to show me.”

“Well, it’s a little more than that.” Wait. At the very end, did he hear just a hint of inquisitiveness out of his boyfriend? Chuck inclined his head and touched Casey’s hand, the one that was still clinging onto the noose. “However, I’ll need freedom of neck movement in order to show you everything.”

Casey thought about it, weighing carefully, and finally dropped his hand. “Why did you drag me here?”

Chuck scratched the side of his face, regarding him for a minute. “Uh, do you want to follow me? It’s a little hard to see it from this vantage point.” Without waiting, he led Casey through the opening in the bamboo fence and down a narrow row of seedlings to their right. “It works like this.” He swallowed, his body drawn taut, nerves rippling at the prospect of Casey’s wisecrack. “It cost twenty bucks – cheap, right? – to rent out a few rows of space. Walk along this side, okay? It does mean you have to water and tend to the plants, Ellie said, but everyone pitches in and helps each other out, I guess. Cool, huh? I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Bartowski.” Casey squinted at him, pulled back his hand, motioning for him to stop. “Is there something … wrong … with the Intersect? Did you bump your head today?”

“What?” Chuck looked down. “No, no, no, nothing like that. Here. This is what I wanted you to see.” He held out his arms and attempted a smile. “Uh, ta-da?”

Casey stood between two rows, a watering can next to his foot, and slowly shook his head. The way his eyes lingered on the freshly planted vegetables, dirt turned up, small puddles in each divot, made Chuck’s stomach sink. Not exactly the reaction he was going for on this one, either.

Well, he could always give it to Ellie. Or pull out every single plant and throw them away. 

Chuck, not sure if he could speak, ran his hands through his hair for the tenth time in an hour. Tell him, idiot. Just say it, okay? “I … know that you like to grow things – plants –” Oh, God, as opposed to what? “– and you like to cook, so I thought you would be comfortable here. I had to guess with the vegetables, but I was hoping tomatoes and peppers – not the green ones, the hot ones – would work? The woman at the garden center said they needed to be watered twice a day to start, but Ellie said she could help.” Chuck looked down, frowning at one of the spindly plants. “They don’t look like much, but if you … give them time … take good care of them …?” 

Nothing. Unless staring counts. Which it doesn’t. Because right then, Chuck was hyperaware that Casey was examining him like a bug on his windshield – what else could that look mean?

Chuck crossed his arms self-consciously, trying to cover as much bare skin as possible. He already felt way too exposed. “Well,” he faltered, glancing at his lover, “maybe … they’ll grow into something that will give right back.” 

Why was he not talking? Not even to tell him he was a moron for spending the morning with his knees in the dirt? 

“What’s that?” Casey pointed his chin towards the end of one of the rows. “The stake in the ground?”

Chuck had to fight a cringe. The small metal stake had a strip of smooth copper attached to the top. Etched into it were the words, ‘Casey-Bartowski – 107’.

“I can explain,” he said gesturing at the stake. “It just tells the other residents that these two rows belong to us. Oh, and before you get mad about that, yes, I hyphenated, but see?” He had to grin. “Your name is first.” 

Casey looked away and stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “What about that?” he asked nodding, at the end of the row.

The glazed pot, painted with swirls of blue and green, sat next to the bamboo fence. “Oh …. That.” Trudging gingerly between the small plants, Chuck angled his head to flash him a nervous smile. “It’s an avocado tree – or, it will be someday.” 

“A … tree?”

“Well, these plants … they’ll die in the fall. I thought that … later, in case uh, we? ever move from here …. maybe that house in the suburbs someday – stupid, I know,” he mumbled, scrubbing his fingers through his dark waves. “But maybe we’ll live on the same street as Ellie and Awesome. I have this silly picture in my mind that I’ll be an uncle someday – have something normal. Hell, this is crazy – but I always thought that … we could just pick it up and take it with us. Where ever home is.”

That. That was weirdly impossible and insane and it happened in front of his eyes.

Casey. Fucking John Casey. 

The man inhaled sharply. Gave Chuck one long inscrutable look. Spun around and marched towards the walking path and through Ellie’s small but mighty Bark Park, where a few spotted mutts and their masters were tumbling in the grass. Like everything around them was normal.

He was leaving. He was really walking out on him.

I love you …. Coward. Look at me.

“Where … where are you going?” Chuck called, darting a look to the side to see who was witnessing his boyfriend leaving him in the dirt. Literally.

“Apartment.” He didn’t bother turning around. 

“Casey …. Are you …?” Chuck halted, licked his lips. “What … is something wrong? Listen, okay, I get it. I know exactly what you’re thinking. I’m an idiot, right? I know this apology was … full of holes.”

He still wasn’t going to turn around, was he?

The very last bit of energy drained out of him. That was it. The kid shut his eyes, folded himself into the dirt, and lowered his head. His greasy, weary self. Long limbs collapsed in a loose pile of bones and skin and hurt.

The unreadable stare, the unbearable heat, all did a number on his head, put a sting behind hazel eyes. 

He sat in the wet dirt, gazing at the stake. Idiot didn’t begin to cover this.

As soon as he cupped his chin in his palm, his phone chirped with a text. It only confirmed what was blatantly obvious: that the universe hated him.

Chuck’s hands clenched into fists, once, then again. He leaned to the side to pull the phone out of his pocket.

Ellie.

Crap. Now? Wiping the perspiration from his eyes, he read the display screen, and his frown deepened.

Sorry Chuck

What in the world would the incomparable Ellie Bartowski be sorry for?

He replied simply,

?

And waited.

I’m spying on you. I saw it.

Dark eyes widened; his head snapped up, stunned. Ellie saw that? Holy Christ. Where? He searched the commons area, the path, squinting against the sun, until he noticed the kitchen window of Casa Awesome. It was at an angle where someone standing at the sink could peek to the side and get a good look at the park. 

Oh, just perfect. He had to hold back on a sarcastic wave. His shoulders were so stiff they barely moved anyway. 

Another ping. 

The kid’s eyes cut down again, his neck tender and exposed with his head bowed, and read the message.

Get your ass off the ground

Brush yourself off

And go after him

He looked down at his knuckles, turning white. Fists became knots. “Oh, hell,” he murmured, rubbing his forehead. She’ll never let it go until he does.

You don’t know him the way you think you do. You have no idea. That’s what he wanted to say. 

Instead, he pressed his fist to his forehead, focused on the dirt clinging to his shoe. 

 

After an interminably minute, he climbed up off the ground, brushed himself off, and ignored the hard ache in his gut. He was crazy to do it – they were done. Now they could yell at each other, and maybe Casey would even help him pack his damn bags when it was over. 

Another chirp.

Don’t you let him walk away 

He waited, because Ellie always had more to say. And even though he expected it when he heard the chirp, the words still made his heart cave in. 

Fear of losing something

when you can’t fathom letting go

Sound familiar?

His own words, the night he told her he had figured it out. God, he … almost hated her sometimes.

At the twinge, Chuck came within a heartbeat of tossing his phone over the fence. But Ellie would see that. See him giving up. 

Walk away?

Like everything with John Casey, he had no other choice.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Sixteen-x-


	23. Chapter Seventeen

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Seventeen)

When he crossed the back porch, past the small grill and patio table – correction, Casey’s grill – he felt his feet slide to a halt. He stared at the door, noticing details like a scrape where the paint was peeling off, a few blisters from the sun, a small dent at the bottom. Maybe it was idiotic, but did he need another reminder, one more thing to show him what it felt like to be bruised from the outside in? 

There were no marks to prove it. Not visible, anyway, not the kind that scarred pale skin or sliced through lean muscles.

It hurt in other places. Admittedly, the other places, other bruises, were infinitely more terrifying.

Chuck rested his forehead on the door and closed his eyes. He had walked away, just like that. Son of a bitch. That bastard. 

No, fucking bastard.

He left him there.

The kid sighed. Stop being pathetic, okay? Face it, Casey has intolerance for pussies, and you’re acting like one.

Lifting his head, Chuck glanced down, taking an inventory of his appearance. Smudges. Grease from the serpentine belt. Sweat trickling down his chest. Interestingly enough, no signs of his ribcage being carved open. 

And we’re back to pathetic.

“Crap.” An attitude adjustment might just be needed before he touched that door knob again. “Get a grip, idiot.” 

So instead of storming the fort, spilling out emotions and black-colored words that burned with hurt and snapped with their own fire, Chuck drew in a steadying breath. Unclenching his fists, he peered at the ugly peeling back door. 

Jesus. Just open it.

As he turned the knob and pulled, Chuck vaguely wondered if Casey had left already, a move that would force him to go on a search, perhaps to Castle, to finish off the mess he had started. But truthfully, how many places could a man six-foot-four with shoulders as wide as a yardstick hide, anyway?

The answer came as he walked through the doorway and flashed a look to the side, towards the kitchen sink. In a quiet solitude, Casey leaned against the counter stiffly. One hand rested on the edge of the surface, arm bent, and in his other hand, he held a half-empty bottle of water, cool drops of condensation trickling down the side. 

He really never scars. Never shows a mark.

But after that scene, a mortar fire of thoughts had to be rocketing through that mulish place between his ears. 

There were only a few feet between them, but he didn’t look at Chuck. Lifting the bottle, he took another long swig, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Not even a glance exchanged, or worse yet, a warning that Chuck still needed to wash the pots and put every damn thing away.

Chuck balked at the threshold, wondering why it felt like he needed an invitation to walk into his own home. What the hell was wrong with him? For the past five months – and maybe up until ten minutes from now – this had been his apartment too. 

God, did he really just think ‘had’? 

Screw it.

The kid steeled himself, squared his shoulders – and deliberately reached behind his back and pushed the door closed, because God knows he did not want Ellie to hear this spectacle. 

Damn him. There he was, standing there tall and straight, not saying a word. Only a tiny movement of his wrist, just enough to swirl the liquid in the bottle, contemplating something in front of him. Like maybe a fingerprint on his precious stainless microwave? 

Couldn’t they at least be civil? 

“Well.” Chuck scratched a little uncomfortably at some of the dried oil on his chest. “At least … it’s cooler in here, hmm?” 

Frigid, really, but who’s counting the countenance of the man next to the sink.

When it became painfully obvious that no response was coming, Chuck suppressed a wince and crossed the room to the refrigerator, intent on at least helping himself to a bottle of water from Casey’s fridge. By now, thirst was clawing out of him, because being kicked while he’s down takes a lot out of man. Thanks, Casey.

Lowering his head, Chuck searched the middle shelf next to the cheese and tomatoes, only to discover that Casey must’ve taken the last bottle of water. Well, that’s just great, he thought, a prickle of anger riding up the hair on the back of his neck. Standing up, he slammed the door shut with more force than necessary and grabbed a cup out of the cupboard – since for the time being, it was his cupboard too. So with his cup in hand, he had to stroll over to the sink. 

Or, more specifically, to the road block in front of the sink. 

Asshole. He damn well knew Chuck had a better chance of moving a tree trunk than getting him to budge. So move out of the way already.

Chuck cleared his throat. Not that it did a lick of good, or that Casey would actually obey the thoughts the kid sent him over the airwaves, but he understood. Enough to give Chuck a hard look, letting him know he got the message, and was just as easily dismissing it.

Given that there was no way to get around him, Chuck folded his arms over his bare chest and cleared his throat a little louder. “It seems someone procured the last bottle of water,” he said coolly, eyes shifting down to Casey’s hand. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to move to the right or left of where you are now – because it doesn’t matter really which way you decide to go – so that I can get my own drink.”

Feet planted wide apart, Casey just stared at him in that utterly inscrutable way he had. Quiet and still, in the closest thing to death but barely breathing. Was he going to shove him out of the way? Pack his bags for him? Because the kid had no freaking clue what was going through his lover’s head right now. 

But rather than having his Xbox 360 crammed in a box for him, or anything else, it was this. A nudge, and he felt cool drops of moisture on his hand. 

“Here.” Casey’s voice was low, throaty. “You take this.”

Chuck had to blink. “Wh-what?”

That earned him an eye roll. “The water,” Casey repeated, attempting to slide the bottle into his palm. “Here.” When Chuck’s hand hung there, not taking it, the agent shook his head in exasperation and pressed the cool bottle to the exposed skin of his lower stomach. “Take it, dammit.”

“Gah!” The iciness against his skin cut through the confusion. “Cold. Very cold. Did you have to –” 

“Yeah, well, it’s going to be very spilled if you drop it.” Casey’s eyes were steady as he wrapped his fingers around Chuck’s, until he was sure the kid had it. “I said take the rest.”

“Thanks. I guess.” There was no hesitation in tipping the bottle to his lips and polishing it off in a quick drink. One, he was dying of thirst, and two, sharing a bottle of water with Casey was a moot point, considering the amount of spit they had swapped in the past five months.

When he lowered the bottle, Casey’s blue eyes were focused on Chuck’s face, though the kid knew a minute ago he was staring at his throat, watching as he tossed back the drink. 

He thinks I’m disgusting and dirty. That’s why.

It frustrated him, made him angry. Chuck had to fight back a spike of annoyance. “Listen, Casey, we should –”

“You done with it?” The feel of strong fingers curling around his, gradually taking the bottle, made him end it there. Moving just an inch or two closer, Casey was near enough now to smell the spice of worn leather, clean sweat, the musk of his aftershave. So familiar, his scent, and an ache crawled into Chuck’s chest, burrowing down. It sat with the hunger to put all of this shit behind them, the hunger to rest his head in the crook of his shoulder ….

God, I’m an idiot. Again.

He swallowed it down, another dry scrape against his throat. Looking away, Chuck’s lashes swept lower, catching the sight of his hands. Grease and earth, long inelegant smudges over the top of them, trailing up to his elbows. He drew in a breath, stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I should go get cleaned up, I guess –” Chuck said, his voice breaking over a syllable or two. Mortified that Casey could hear that, the kid turned to leave.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he heard Casey say.

Chuck stiffened in the kitchen’s doorway. He turned around, slowly and reluctantly, because there was no reason to finish this when he was only intent on making it worse. But the words stung like holy hell. 

Wasn’t supposed to happen? 

His brows wrinkled, drawing down over dark eyes lit with their own fire. “Really? Everything I tried to do wasn’t supposed to happen? You fucking think so?” Normal inhibitions and the usual fear of going toe-to-toe with a man like Casey were cast to the side. Chuck swiped the bottle out of his hand and pointed the tip at Casey’s nose just because it felt good to do it. “Damn right it wasn’t supposed to happen! You left me sitting in the dirt … like a bug … or a… a gum wrapper stuck to your foot! After everything I tried to do to fix us! I climbed into the engine of a car that should’ve seen her retirement from active duty – oh, I don’t know, fifteen years ago?”

“Keep Vic out of this,” Casey broke in, straightening his stance. “No one asked you to –”

“And this!” For the first time in a while, there was no retreat in the kid’s voice. Abruptly, Chuck set the bottle down on the counter and swiped a utensil from the cutting board, waving it in a flourish. “I peeled and minced garlic for you with a device that had to be invented by the devil! Who even knew garlic had a peel? Do you know how slippery those little things are when you try to –”

“Just use the side of knife next time, for Christ sakes,” Casey muttered, but he kept his distance, eyeing him warily. “Easier that way.”

“Oh, well, fine.” Chuck tossed the garlic press back onto the cutting board and crossed his arms again, brimming with defiance. He was losing his mind to talk to Casey like this, but dammit, it felt good. “Why don’t we try something different next time and do it your way? Oh, wait!” He slapped his forehead dramatically. “We always do it according to the mission specs of the great John Cas –”

“Oh, hell.” Casey’s voice went to a dangerous depth, and after a moment, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck me …,” he mumbled. “I don’t believe this –”

Oh. Oh, that son of a bitch. 

“Fuck you? Did you really say that?” Chuck whirled away from the counter, pushing his fingers through the mess of sweat in his hair – and crossed the final frontier, sliding headlong over wafer thin ice by getting into Major John Casey’s face. “You want the truth? Okay, here it is, the brutal honesty. Because, right now, I’m looking at the –”

“Back off, sport.”

“– goddamn death of our relationship in the face … and I’m afraid, okay? I wanted to do something that maybe in some stupid way would put the pieces back together. But fuck you?” Chuck let out a humorless, cynical laugh. “That’s nice, Casey. Really nice choice of words there. Because that also happens to be –”

“If you don’t shut the hell up –”

“– what I’ve been trying to do for two weeks! That’s right – fuck you!” His attention shifted down briefly to his doubled up fists – though he would have no idea what to do with them. “You want me to say it? You want to hear it, don’t you? Okay, okay, yeah. I can do this. Sure.”

“Listen, kid,” Casey grit out. “Maybe you should –”

“Oh, no. Really. This has to be said. Why not? Does it matter?” Chuck began pacing, stove to breakfast bar and back again, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Fuck you. Yeah. Because right now?” he snapped, “I want to be taken out, ridden like a trophy thoroughbred –”

“Bartowski, this is gonna be your last –”

“– until I’m drowning in sweat and dirty, okay? And not like this.” The kid stopped to gesture at the smudges of dirt and grease painted on his stomach and chest. “That’s right. Me. The virgin nerd you christened that night –”

“God dammit. Have you been drinking?”

“– and oh, I know you remember – wants to be taken around the race track. Run hard. And for the record? In my version, this happens to be a race of endurance – not the freaking ‘fastest two minutes in sports’! So fuck you? Well, John Casey, fuck you or fuck off.”

Chuck caught his breath, staring at him, waiting for the 9mm kickback. Because it was coming.

Biting down on his lip, Casey eyeballed him in stony silence for a minute. “You done now?” he finally asked.

“I think that should about cover it, yes.”

“Good.” The NSA agent leaned over the sink, reached up, and slid the window’s sash closed – firmly – without a word. Then he lifted a shoulder, nonchalant. “’Run hard’, eh? I hate to tell you this, but your overprotective big sister might be losing sleep for a few nights, tiger, after hearing that little outburst.”

“How did you know she was – oh, no.” The kid felt the fire of a blush climbing up his neck. It was true, though. She had to have been listening, and now, odds were three to one in her favor that Ellie just got an earful of her little brother doing his best Secretariat imitation. 

Shit. 

Chuck darted a look to the window, and scowled. “You know, you could’ve stopped me anytime – really,” he pointed out, strolling to a halt in front of his boyfriend-handler-whatever. “You know, before I was hitting the final turn and heading down to the finish line.”

Casey gave him the once over, his attention straying over the slope of his chest – probably to make a derisive comment about the grime – and then he looked up, giving him sly smile. “I don’t know, stallion,” he said. “There were twelve to one odds on your scrawny ass and I was hoping for a payout.”

“Hilarious, Casey.” Every inch of Chuck’s long body bristled. He brushed the damp hair off his forehead and backed up a step. “Now that you’ve have your laugh, if you don’t mind, I’m getting in the shower.”

“Nuh-uh.” Casey reached out, and before he could walk, a strong hand over his elbow pulled Chuck back until he bumped against a hard thigh. His other hand came up, held the kid’s jaw, gently but firmly; keeping his focus, controlling the moment. “Not what I meant.”

“Not what –? You know something else? This is cryptic, even for you, Casey,” Chuck said, resigned that trying to pull his head back would be useless. “Didn’t mean what?”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” A long finger hooked into a belt loop of his jeans, tugged once, then again more insistently when Chuck managed to keep his feet planted the first time. Now he was pressed to him, bare stomach to his shirt. “I meant this,” Casey told him, his eyes intent. “Not what you did today.”

Me. He means me. I wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Being the unwanted baggage twisted something inside of him.

“Because I didn’t fit into your plans?” 

Casey snorted at him, loosening his fingers along the angle of his jaw, his thumb stroking over the stubble on his cheek. “No one plans for you, Bartowski.”

That was it. Soulful brown eyes darkened, and then with a pause and a quick jerk of his head, the kid managed to wrench his face out of Casey’s palm. It may have been the wounded look that did it, or the bitterness scuttling to the surface, but Casey let him pull out of his hand. The agent, however, tamped down on any assumption that now would be the right time to just walk away. An arm of muscle slid around his waist and tightened, drawing him forward again. 

What the hell does he want from me?

Chuck eased his shoulders back to look him in the face, blinking in confusion. No matter how much it hurt, though, he didn’t want to move, standing there between the spread of Casey’s thighs. He swallowed hard, nervously, and hated for telegraphing it while Casey was so close. “I get it, okay? I know the whole ‘Chuck Bartowski became the Intersect and then kissed me in a surveillance van’ probably wasn’t anywhere on your list of ways to move up the ranks. Or, more to my point, the way you saw your life … with me.”

“If you’re done talking for once, I –”

“But consider this, Casey: do you think I planned to open an email from my –”

“– little bastard of a –”

“– college roommate and become the Human Intersect? Become government property and the target of evil doers who want what’s in my head? The one thing that I don’t want? Or did I –”

“Bartowski, not another goddamn word until I can –”

“– plan to have a fake girlfriend foisted on me, when she would never give up the job to be more than friends anyway, and then –”

“Whatever the hell you think is more important than shutting up –”

“– out of the blue meet the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with at the worst possible time in the universe? How can that even – mmph.”

It caught him off guard. Casey ignored the uncomfortable grappling, put a hand on the side of his face to steer him around, and pulled him into a kiss. 

Now he was being kissed? When the kid jolted, trying to step away and say something, Casey leaned forward, caught his lips before he could draw back. He fitted his mouth over Chuck’s, increasing the pressure behind the kiss, slow and steady, and made an approving growl deep in his chest when Chuck stilled, succumbing. Fingers straggled along his jaw to his hair, pushing into the dark waves, tangling into them. Trapped, but not, Casey kissed him hard, gripping the back of his head to hold him there.

His other hand splayed over the bare skin of his lower back, keeping his mouth moving, teeth gently nipping his lower lip ….

Damn if that bastard wasn’t feeding him the ‘Shut-up’ kiss.

“God … why’re ….” As Chuck gasped it, he tore his mouth away, unraveling his hand from Casey’s shirt. When did that happen? “You … you kissed me?”

One last stroke, and Casey let his hand drop from his hair. “Had to make a snap decision,” he explained, matter-of-fact. “It was either that or my hand over your mouth. Because frankly, kid, you gave me the impression you were getting ready to bolt through the starting gate again, and these windows can only smother so much.”

Frowning, Chuck wanted to step back to get some breathing room, but Casey kept his fingers hooked on his belt loop. “Uh, this might be a good time to … well, I’m sorry,” the kid said, looking away. 

“You’re … sorry?” Casey’s eyes widened a bit. “For what?”

“I got the sense that you were finally – wait, I don’t mean finally as in ‘finally ready to say something’. That sounds bad –”

“Jesus. Just say it.”

“Okay, that you were finally getting ready to explain what the hell is going on with you, and … I made a mess of that too, I guess.” Chuck shuffled on his feet and brought a hand up to scratch the side of his face. “I butted in, feeling pity for myself, and so that’s where we get to the ‘I’m sorry’ part of the conversation –”

“First, don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry,” Casey said. His fingers tightened on the loop and he tugged, making Chuck almost stumble as he drew him in to fill the distance the kid had just put between them. “Don’t apologize – not anymore.” That was an order. 

When Casey’s fingers brushed the skin over his jeans, sliding around the back to hold him tighter, he felt every contact point flare hot for such a light touch. Chuck took a deep breath and looked to his face. “If there was ever a time in your life where you need to talk,” he said, “this would be one of those times to say it. Because I’ve got to tell you, right now, I don’t understand anything.”

Casey dipped his head, pressed his lips to Chuck’s ear, warm breath expelling over his neck. “I’m not good at this.”

“Not … good at this?” One of his hands trailed up Casey’s chest, leaving rumpled fabric over hard, solid muscle. When it got to his shoulder, Chuck joggled him lightly and gave him a serious but crooked smile. “Buddy? I should be the one to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Casey replied, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the smile.

“I … hate to … but did you say, ‘not good at this?’ Are you … serious?” Chuck had to gape at him. “Because, you, John Casey, are the … the freaking nuclear holocaust of this.” His hand came up in the tight space between them to signal at this. “You’re the zombie apocalypse, Titanic, and Hindenburg all rolled into one big scary package of this!”

In answer, Casey glared like ice but said nothing. And really, Chuck told himself, what on earth could he say?

“Alright.” Chuck clenched his fingertips into his shirt one more time, touching rigid sinew under the black polo – nice, but okay, that pissed him off. “Let’s try this,” he said. “I’ve always said play to your strengths, and this part is all about me. My strength. So, I’m going to do the … talking, and you’re going to give me a sign – anything, really – that lets me know if I’m on the right track. Can you … do that?”

Casey’s jaw held taut, watching him, still not a damn word, just that fierce expression. But when Chuck thought he might move back or walk out, he brushed his knuckles down his stomach, stroking down to the point where Chuck’s jeans got in the way, and back up again.

“I … okay.” Chuck cleared his throat. “I’ll t-take that as concurrence and I’m just going say it. It’s better to treat it like a Band-Aid and get it off in one rip. So, here goes.” He braced himself against Casey, and at the same time grazed his thumb over his middle, hoping he would hear that message too. “When … our relationship was a secret from Beckman … from everyone back in Washington – oh, God, you’re going to hate this part – it was almost as if you were keeping a secret from yourself, too, you know? To the rest of the world, you were still the biggest intimidator and overall badass in the agency –”

“Did you say were, Bartowski?”

“Okaaay, this is coming out all wrong,” Chuck faltered. “What I’m saying is that until McClure and the 49B, you didn’t have to … well, accept this. Accept me.” He smiled weakly, tracing the curve of muscle with his finger. “That it was real, and that your life had changed. But then … the night they knocked us out and took me to Sterling – the night I don’t want to talk about –”

“Kid, I can think of about a dozen things I don’t wanna talk about right now,” Casey growled. Contrary though, he added barely audible, “Keep going.”

“Well, you did the last thing you ever expected,” Chuck said. “You broke every rule, threw away the life you knew, and for some crazy reason, you … went after me. To bring me back.” Restlessly, Chuck repositioned his feet, feeling his jeans press against Casey’s thigh. “Except, there was something else.” And this part would be sure to make him cringe. “Now the one secret that you guarded all those months was out in the open, and it made you feel –”

“Watch it, Bartowski,” Casey cut in, his possessive hand at Chuck’s waist squeezing into the flesh, just enough to make him suck in a breath. “You’ve been dancing all over the line, but that would take you way out of bounds.” 

“Point retracted. Sheesh.” Chuck rolled his eyes. “Can I finish?”

Casey leveled a hard look at him and then seemed to find something to stare at across the room. “Yeah,” he replied after thinking about it. “But … carefully.” 

Still, he had to prove he was the most frustratingly complicated man by swishing his knuckles along the kid’s lower belly again, not seeming to mind the streak of grease or sweat he was crossing over.

Chuck licked his lips, overwhelmed by touches and the words he wouldn’t be able to say. It made him feel vulnerable, exposed to the double-edged blade of devotion, but how could he tell him? No one could tell John Casey. After all, he had never said the words. 

“Then, and I have to remind you, this is another part you’re going to hate – the … thing with McClure happened, and –”

“You mean when you almost got your idiot self killed?” Casey frowned, putting a little stretch in his back. “Surprised you’d want to talk about that again.”

“No thank you. That’s not my point.” Chuck brought up his other hand to wipe the damp hair off his brow, buying a second to sort his thoughts. “After that happened, you – well, let me say it this way – the thing that was hidden in places no one could see … became real. You knew it was there … and it became tangible.” Fragility, fear, but those were most definitely off limits. 

Chuck moved a lot as he spoke, brown eyes roaming over his lover’s face, lowering to his own dirty shoes. Fingers stopping to stroke heated flesh at Casey’s waist.

Casey, on the other hand, stood stock still while he listened; a man carved from a single perfect slab of marble, the only hint of his mortality was the translucency of human skin.

But the last chance to say it was slipping away. Chuck bit down on his lips and looked to the side, ignoring the spear of resentment. “And you thought the man you were … had disintegrated, at least in your stubborn mind. God, Casey. You think you’re weak. You hate yourself because you’re human.” Chuck moved his hand down, latching onto his hip, digging in, and then shifted his gaze up. “But I love you because you are.”

That look. It could’ve been his imagination, but Chuck thought his boyfriend had a strikingly similar resemblance to a bear in a claw trap right about now.

For one, Casey was staring. It didn’t seem to be at anything in front of him. His spine went ram-rod straight, as if an erratic shift was happening under the surface, but one that couldn’t be predicted. Weighing the risk of fight or flee.

Well. Not exactly the reaction he was going for. 

“Casey? Can you say something?” Chuck impulsively traced a thumb over Casey’s hip bone, circling … waiting. “Really, I’ll take … anything. Can you give me clue, a hint as to what is going through the incredibly scary place in that head of yours? Hell, at this point I’ll even take –”

“You weren’t supposed happen. Not like this.” 

“But … it did happen. Didn’t it, John?”

“Yes. Okay? Yes.” Casey ran his hand over his face, the back of his neck. When he turned his head to meet’s Chuck’s gaze, it was obvious the act took great effort. “Now I can’t leave.”

“Wait.” Chuck’s hand dropped from Casey’s jeans, down to his side. “Can’t? What is that sup –”

“Can’t because I don’t want to. Ever.” Casey groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There. I said it. Are you fucking happy now?” 

Chuck attempting to pull back, but the thick arm at his waist held on, the slide of rough fingers curling and tightening. He’s staying, but he’s mad at me for that? “Well,” the kid started, emotions ricocheting through his gut, “when you put it that way, maybe –”

“Oh, Christ. I didn’t mean it to …. It’s like this,” Casey said quietly. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to get out, even after I … failed to –”

“Failed?” Chuck’s mouth slid open. What the bloody hell? “You mean because of our agreement with Beckman? Because of the … Intersect – that for now, I have to keep it? You think you failed me?” Chuck closed his hand on his wrist, and every drop of moisture rolling over his skin reminded him of his touch. “You saved me!” And he had, in a million ways that had nothing to do with the Intersect or McClure or the bunker. “Don’t you get it?” 

Casey breathed out, looking past him. He moved in closer, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the sink. “Jesus … fuck.” 

“Oh ….” Chuck’s brow creased. “Okay, I have to say I expected something else right then.”

“And just so we can close the door on this shit, I’m … sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done … well, a hell of a lot of things, starting with the parking lot.” 

“You mean the part where you dragged me hog-tied through the Large Mart packing deck and threatened to leave me, after I had been kidnapped – what was it now, I lost count – twice or three times?”

“Yeah, that.” Casey gave the kid a sidelong look, a somewhat guilty one. “There. That was your one ticket, I stamped it, now move the hell on. See who can be fucking reasonable? Me,” he said, caressing the kid’s back while he spoke, that lingering touch just above the slope of his ass. 

“Wow.” Chuck steadied himself, not leaning back anymore. “Poetic, big guy. Really, I’m touched.”

Casey stayed silent, stretching it out, and any relief that had risen gradually faded. Chuck watched as he looked to the side. “There’s one more thing.” Casey’s voice was low when he spoke. “What … you said. A minute ago?”

There was no need to ask. Though totally enigmatic and completely Casey, Chuck knew exactly what his boyfriend was getting at. He shrugged stiffly. “Listen, Casey. I don’t want you to –”

“I’ve never … to anyone. Might not happen, either. You should know that.” 

Chuck felt a tightening in his gut. “I know.” He had some trouble getting out the words, because he needed to be braver than his heart felt right now. “And you don’t need to say it. You’ve … shown me, and that’s all I need.”

Sort of. But it sounded good.

“I have another question.” Chuck’s hand found Casey’s waist again. “If you knew you were staying, why did you leave me out there, like that? Sitting in the dirt?” 

Why were you a dick head?

“Your sister,” Casey replied. His arm around Chuck’s middle loosened, and the kid figured it had something to do with the fact he was leaning forward now, not back. It did stay put, however, thumb still hooked in his pants.

“You saw her… you knew?”

“The kitchen window?” Casey gave him a look. “She was watching us the entire time.”

“But ….” Chuck felt his shoulders sag. “How did you –”

“Monday, 6 a.m.”

“I’m … completely at a loss here.”

“That’s when we’re going on a run –”

“A run … as in running?”

“That’s right, Stanford.” Casey’s blue eyes looked him over head to toe. “You’re going to learn the first thing about clandestine surveillance of public areas.”

“I’m … still stuck on the whole running thing.” 

“Oh, we’re going running, champ.” A large hand drifted down his ribcage, skimming over sensitive skin. “You’ve got a runner’s body, kid. Long. Lean.” He tugged him in close, whispered with lips to his temple. “Gotta teach you how to use it.”

If that was his intention, it did the job, because Chuck felt a quiver along his body. He closed his eyes. “Did … you like it? I mean ….” Oh, God. Casey’s hands eased into a back and forth stroking over the bare skin at his middle. “The … car? The g-garden?”

His boyfriend was looking at him with an unreadable expression. “It was an effective means to acquire the projected target, Bartowski.”

“You mean – oh.” Chuck tipped his head to the side, felt his hands reflexively clench. 

Casey kissed, not on the hollow of his neck, or chest, but along his shoulder, teasing the band of muscle and tender flesh there. The smell of his hair, the neck, his skin. So good.

He wanted to stay this way for a while. Just to be like this. 

“Yeah … I liked it.” An apology in four words. And Chuck was uncertain if it was the rumble and brush of lips at the base of his neck, or the fact that Casey had found that tender spot under his ear, needling it with his tongue, that drew the forgiveness from him, but it was working. 

He’s staying. 

“Chuck?” There was another graze of warm lips to his neck, and Chuck had to clutch the broad shoulders in front of him to steady his feet.

“Y-yes?”

“We made up. We’re good now?”

“Well, I … yes.”

“Good.” Casey laid a hand on Chuck’s waistband, his thumb passing over a ticklish spot. “Drop the pants, cupcake,” he said bluntly, and Chuck felt a hearty slap to the ass. “Or should I say ‘saddle up’?”

“Saddle –? Drop my pa – are you nuts?” Chuck shot backwards, arms flailing, and promptly tangled his shoes in the throw rug at the front of the sink. “Ah. Shit. I mean no,” he said. “That’s not going to – I mean, yes – really yes, but not … not now. Like this.” He paused to kick the rug, freeing his foot. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I was hoping when … it finally did happen, it didn’t involve quite as much WD-40, and other elements of dirt and grease I don’t even want to think about.” The kid gave a fleeting look down at his chest, and grimaced. “Because this isn’t at all how I pictured this happening.”

Oops.

Casey squinted at him. “You spend a lot of time picturing it, kid?” he asked, strolling in closer.

“Um.” Chuck flushed bright red and spun around to face the countertop, away from the smug look Casey had pointed at him. “Lasagna.” He nodded at the pan he had taken out of the refrigerator before the garden incident. “It needs to go in the oven.”

“Lasagna, eh?” Casey snorted. “Gotta hand it to you, kid. Not many people can connect the dots from stripping naked to pasta in three seconds flat.”

“I never said strip! That was you.”

Behind him, Chuck heard Casey huff. “Explain.”

“It’s simple,” the kid replied. Hesitating, he pushed his fingers through his hair, frowning when they tangled in the sweaty waves. “I wanted this to be, well … perfect, you know?”

“This?” He heard a rustling directly behind his back. A smooth hand touched the curve of his spine, traveling down, forcing a tiny jolt of surprise. Casey chuckled, apparently pleased with getting a shiver from him. “What’s this?”

“Our … well, uh – making up. The dinner.” Chuck angled his head and nearly bumped noses, discovering Casey had moved directly behind his back. “Oh. Sorry.” He straightened, stopping himself before he did something ridiculous, like sagging back and resting against his chest, enjoying the unexpected heat of his proximity. But the kid stood still, thankful for the counter to press against, and swallowed hard like a fool. “You see, I preheated the oven before we walked outside.”

“I saw that. Impressed,” Casey rumbled.

“And, well … Ellie said that I should –”

“Heh. Knew your big sister was still handing out the instructions.”

“Only this,” Chuck answered as he lifted the foil from the pan. “She said I should rotate it after twenty-five minutes. Just to ensure the cheese browns evenly on the top. That was it.”

“Twenty-five minutes, eh?” Casey’s lips whispered along the back of his neck, his jaw brushing through loose curls. “I can be a … patient man, I guess.”

Chuck had to smile at that. “Casey, I hate to tell you this,” he said, giving him a small nudge with his elbow, “but I think it’s worth noting something here.”

“Yeah?” More warm breath, ghosting the edge of his ear. “What?”

Oh. He had to stop doing that or this lasagna was going to fry in hell. 

“Well, your patience is currently digging into my left butt cheek,” Chuck told him, picking up the pan. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm … trust me, it’s a … well, I shouldn’t talk about that right now – but, do you mind backing up a step? Please.” Or his oddly nerdy dream of seducing his boyfriend with garlic and tomato and a Cabernet was going to be over way before it started.

“Fine.” Casey nudged him in the rear, just once – making Chuck nearly cross his eyes and suck in a raspy breath. “Let’s see if you can figure out where that goes.”

Chuck shook his head to clear it. “The lasagna?” 

Casey fixed him with a look, attention drifting to Chuck’s mouth, and the corner of his lips tugged up. “Sure.” 

“Then … can you get the oven door for me?” Chuck asked.

The teasing light sparked in his tone as Casey continued to study him. “Whatever you say, princess.” Obligingly, Casey sauntered to the oven and pulled the door open. “Just don’t drop it.” 

“No faith in the nerd. Nice, Casey.” Chuck rolled his eyes and slid in between him and the door, setting the pan on the middle rack. When he closed the oven, the kid leaned over the stove and fiddled with the electronic timer. Nothing. 

“Wasting your time,” Casey said, slapping at his hand.

“What’s wrong ... is this broken?”

“Has been.” A firm arm reached from behind and grabbed an egg timer on the ledge. “That’s why we have this, genius. The old fashioned kind.”

“Kind of like your ca – ow! No pinching!”

“These never wear out.” Casey turned the dial and set it down. “Besides, don’t you spend every waking hour on your job fixing electronic shit that breaks?”

“Well, I ….” Chuck frowned. “Okay, you may have a point there.” Now was not the time to argue the value proposition of the modern age. Not with the tingling awareness of Casey’s giant presence, standing there behind him and pressed to his bare back, the front of Casey’s jeans against his ass. Jesus. Stiff.

Chuck gulped, stole a peek at that damn timer.

“Kid?” Casey’s voice, low as gravel, was at his ear. Deliberately, a large warm hand caressed the curve of his neck, flipped a few strands of hair from his nape. “Are you done?”

Chuck felt a reflexive tightening at the touch. God, he wanted him to do that again. But instead, he scooted a few inches to the side and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

The hand resting at his waist kneaded the flesh, skimming his finger into a belt loop. “Because if you are, you should turn around now. Look at me.”

Face him. He wanted to. Wanted to stroke a hand over his shirt, dig his fingers into a … Very Bad Idea. Not according to the Plan, he reminded himself. Nothing good would come from looking into a pair of blue eyes, gleaming in that smartass sexy way of his –

A brisk tug at the belt loop sent him spinning around to face Casey, trapping him between his wide chest and the stovetop. Casey’s eyes were exactly as he imagined, flickering with intent and trouble and he should not be looking at him. 

“Do you … want to chop the cucumbers for the salad?” Chuck asked.

“Cucumbers, kid?” He leaned even closer, ran a thumb over Chuck’s lips that the kid playfully tried to catch and remove, but his boyfriend was too fast. “I suppose … that’s the rest of your plan?”

“Well, you don’t sound impressed anymore.” Chuck swatted at him again and folded his arms over his chest. “I guess this is the part … where we wait. Twenty-five minutes – or twenty-four if we go by your egg timer, which should be enough time for me to get in the shower and get the eau de Vic off my body, so – what is it?”

Casey was staring again. That piercing one. All at once, he narrowed his eyes to slits and slanted his head to the side. “You kidding?” he asked, his nose wrinkling up.

“It’s the smell, isn’t it?” Chuck laughed uneasily, glimpsing down at himself. “It finally got to you. I reek, don’t I? In my defense, though, Bartowskis are notorious for avoiding all activities that would induce sweating so when we do, it’s rather – oh. Oh God.”

His first thought was that everything felt a bit float-y and disconnected from itself. He was on his stomach, he gathered, but his brain was fuzzy and something hard was digging into this lower belly. 

Or rather, somebody’s stiff shoulder was digging there. 

“Jesus, Bartowski,” Casey griped, wrapping an arm around the back of his knees, another at his hip after he had tossed him like a sack. “When are you going to learn there are times to just shut the fuck up?”

“Shut – what?” Still dazed, the scenery of the kitchen and their living room went by, swimming in front of his eyes. Chuck did the only thing he could think of at that foggy moment. His flailing hands grabbed two fistfuls of a black polo and held on tight while he dangled over Casey’s broad back. “Casey! Down!”

“If you keep squirming like a little girl, you will be down,” Casey replied, crossing to the stairs. “But not in the way you’d like.”

“But my plan! My dinner? It’s … it’s goat cheese!” he sputtered.

“Bartowski. This is one of those times you need to stop and listen to yourself.” 

“Watch that hand. Wait! Hold on. Stairs? You know how I feel about – and I see you don’t care!” The upside down sight of black boots climbing the steps made him cling for his life. To avoid the steep view down the stairs, he focused straight ahead – getting an eyeful of a backside view he would’ve enjoyed except for his blood rushing to his head. “You still haven’t answered, what about my pl –”

“Your plan, kid? Heh. I gotta give you credit.” Casey’s hand trailed up and closed in a lewd squeeze on his ass. “Yeah. It was passable – right up until the second you set that goddamn timer. Now,” and he squeezed again, getting a good handful, fingers teasing the crease. “It’s my plan.”

“Your pl-plan? It’s … are you nuts? Put me down, dammit!” Fabric slipped through his fingers, so he grabbed at anything, and found a handful of Casey’s jeans. “Gah! Very high … very high.” 

“Close your eyes.” That arm around his knees flexed, tightening. “And kid? If you keep your hand there, this plan will change radically by the time we hit the landing.”

“My … oh crap. What’re you – we talked about this, too. You can’t just – ah! Again with the hand? – pick me up and take me – where are we going?” 

Casey grunted, and this one was easy to translate. Just another incredibly stupid question, kid.

“Can’t pick you up?” The topsy-turvy view of the upstairs hallway came into his line of sight right about the time Casey shifted him on his shoulder, proving he damn well could. “Better check your GPS, goddess.”

“Okay, okay … maybe you can, but does that mean –”

“Whoa. Christ,” he heard Casey mutter, and the rhythmic jostling of steps came to a halt. “What is that?”

Chuck was left dangling over his broad shoulder, fingers now digging into Casey’s back side. Which was also an enjoyable past time, without the hoisting part, Chuck thought, starting to get miffed. “Can we – please … do we have to stop like this?” Loosening his hold some, Chuck wriggled to the side, attempting to see his boyfriend’s face. No such luck. “Casey? What’s going on?”

Even hanging upside down with a firm hand sliding up the back of his thigh, Chuck was perceptive enough to pick up on Casey’s sniff of displeasure. “Something … stinks to hell.”

“Uh, hello?” Chuck was ruffled at the indignity. “Did you hear anything I said? I worked on your damn car in scorching conditions, I might add. Did you get a good look at me? 

In reply, a warm hand traveled over his ribcage, hooked on the back of this jeans. “Yeah,” Casey answered with another healthy ass-grab. “I might’ve noticed.”

“Hey! Watch the – okay, does this mean you’re going to –”

“Shower,” Casey finished. He strode over the threshold of their bedroom, but instead of dropping him on the bed, as the kid had expected – oh, hell, what was he thinking? He didn’t know what to expect! – Chuck watched Casey’s boots make a right hand turn into the master bathroom. “Get the stink off you, kid.”

“Fine.” Chuck had to scowl at the knock on his hygiene. He was always very clean, and it was only because of his stupid car that he was sweaty in the first place. “This is the part where you can put me down and maybe pass me a towel on the way out?” he suggested, thankful that his boyfriend might be having a moment of sanity. 

He waited, still dangling.

“Did you hear me? Down.” Warily, he glanced at the reflection in the mirror to see what his boyfriend was doing –

– only to feel an odd tilting, jostling motion. 

Casey was kicking off a boot.

“What are you – oh. Oh, no, no, no ….” At the shot of awareness, Chuck scrambled, kicking out with a foot before realizing a heartbeat too late that recoiling when his boyfriend was balancing a six-foot-four, one hundred eighty pound man on his back was not his most brilliant move.

“Christ – hold still, Bartowski,” Casey ordered, his hip banging against the counter. “Do you want to get dropped on your ass?” 

Another boot hit the tile floor. 

“Are you – is this … I appreciate the, well, whatever it is you’re doing, but I’ve been taking my own showers – for years, actually.” 

“Yeah? My way’s more fun, kid.” Paying no heed to his squirming, Casey latched onto a black Chuck and slipped it off, followed by the other. The not-so-clean socks fell to the tile floor next.

“Hey, that’s my – Wait. This was part of your plan?” Oh, God. With the wriggling on his shoulder, his chest jabbing him right there … and for other crazy reasons that he couldn’t explain … Chuck felt a hard shudder run through him, a surge of response in a place that wasn’t supposed to be paying attention just yet. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting it, though why in the hell would he fight the sizzling, crackling air between them. 

It was too much.

A low sexy chuckle under his belly made him still. Casey tightened his grip, swept his hand up and pulled at his jeans with a grunt, then fished his iPhone out of his back pocket. “Yeah. You get it now. Like your enthusiasm, too, sunshine.”

God, Casey felt his tremble, can feel his – Chuck struggled, his cheeks flushing, biting on his lips. Damn him. Mortification that his hard on was jabbing into Casey’s chest turned into a flash of irritation. “You … son of a bitch. When I get down, I’m going to –”

“Let me guess. You’ll kick my ass?” Casey dragged his hand down Chuck’s leg, adjusting his hold. The touch was no longer a tedious restraint. It was something else, softer. As if even Casey could sense that if he wanted his lover to get wet with him, his method of inducement, luring him a little farther, would need an overhaul. “Why don’t you just relax, kid? Let me get this,” Casey murmured, kneading the back of his thigh. “Just … let me.”

Let me. Chuck heard it. The coaxing. The way his voice dropped, the way his grasp trailed up to his waist to steady him, fingertips clenching in reassuringly … well, the kid wasn’t fighting him anymore. Granted, maybe this wasn’t exactly the way he had imagined it when he woke up this morning, but Casey’s alternative did have merit. 

And water, lots of water, which – who knew? – could be such a goddamn turn on. 

Chuck straightened when he heard the quiet clack of the shower door swinging open and the steady stride taking him into Casey’s creamy-tiled walk-in shower. “Uh, does this mean I finally get – oh.” He choked, feeling a slippery slide and bunching of Casey’s shirt, then his feet plopping down against the cool tile.

“So.” Casey closed the door, and his grin slanted into a leer. “You wanted a shower. Here you go. Done pissing and moaning now, champ?”

“Thanks for the ride,” Chuck replied dryly. He set his jaw and folded his arms over his chest, his dark eyes staring at Casey. Because this was insane. 

“Yeah, well, next time, kid –”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“Just go with it. Easier that way.” 

Chuck gave himself a minute to compose, glancing down at Casey’s jeans and black polo while the agent stood there in his bare feet. “I always thought the whole showering experience worked out better when there were … fewer clothes involved?” 

Casey stared back at him with a self-assured look, as if contemplating his options. Options? Like what? Then his eyes narrowed, and that was it. He seemed to settle on his strategy. 

So much for a normal shower. 

“Fewer …. Yeah, you would think so,” Casey answered, smoke in his voice.

The kid tilted his head at him, too baffled at the moment to understand his impossibly tense face, only knowing that he had to suppress a reaction as muscles rippled along the bend of his back. A tremble, damn it. Chuck stretched out to cover it up, and half-smiled at him. “I still never know quite what that look means – when your jaw twitches like that?” He reached for the top button on his jeans, almost shyly. “But I think this is the part where at least I should I should be allowed to strip off these greasy jeans? You know, before the somewhat intriguing yet a bit little unnerving part of your plan comes to light – whoa, you really need to stop doing that.”

“Nuh-uh. Hands down,” Casey’s voice scratchy, and batting his fingers away, he easily scooped up Chuck’s wrists and pressed them against the tile at his sides. The cold surface dribbled along his spine, swirling with the heat of Casey’s chest and thighs pressed to him. “Keep them like this,” Casey said, and ducking his head, he nipped at his collarbone, positioning his legs solidly between Chuck’s thighs. “So fucking hungry for you ….” 

Holy God. Plans can go to hell. 

The potent confession made him feel out his own hunger, a shot that sent a quiver in every muscle. Chuck squeezed his eyes closed, immobilized by his lover, straining hopelessly with his hands under the circle of Casey’s fingers, needing. “C-Casey, you have to –” His tone faltered with a million ways to end that sentence, but not knowing a single way to say it. 

“Yeah …. Stay still. The hands, Bartowski,” he said, gruffly. “Just like that.” The sense of Chuck relaxing under him earned a sinful grin, stopping for just a second to explore the tender curve of his neck, tracing his lips along his jaw. “That’s it …. C’mere.”

Leaning in, he kissed him, desperate, dark, filling every vacant corner. There was a blissful point when he knew it was the kiss – not the firm ploy to shut him up, or the hot and quick ‘be a good boy or I’ll kick your ass’ version that Casey had resorted to of late. This was the slick and filthy kiss, the one that coaxed his lips open, exploring with a pressure behind them that had his vitals coiling in knots. Casey dragged his hands up the kid’s arms, leaving a long path of prickled flesh under this palms, over his shoulders to his neck. He held Chuck’s jaw, fingers clenching lightly, and used his other hand to grab a fistful of dark waves at the back of his head, threaded his fingers in the messy hair. “Like that ….” Chuck felt him say against the side of his throat.

“Hmm?” the kid asked. When he pulled back to at least get an answer in his eyes, the hand in his hair dropped, slid along his middle and back. What was he doing? 

His thought was interrupted by a gush of water spraying out from the shower head, streaming over their hair, their long bodies, clothing. Everything was suddenly drenched. “Guh – cold! This isn’t exactly what I – oh shit.”

Casey bit down on his Adam’s apple to get him to shut up. “Give it a second, will ya?” Since his mouth was down there already, Casey decided to suck on the tender slope of his neck, trailing his lips below his ear, then across his cheek bone. “It’ll be warm enough, kid.”

“Just – it’s just a little shocking at first,” Chuck explained lamely, letting his eyes drift shut again, relishing a slow stroke of his mouth over the angle of his jaw. Unthinking, his lips parted slightly, waiting, before Casey’s mouth touched the corner of his. 

Feeling Casey’s smile against his skin, Chuck knew that his boyfriend had noticed the way he was breathing hard, anticipating a pair of lips to his. And nuzzling him, he would register the quiver running through Chuck’s lean muscles, one that gave away too much. 

With a flood of sudden warmth, steam rose in a plume, misting the glass. And as the heat engulfed them, Casey shifted his mouth, fitting it over the kid’s, and kissed him hard. His tongue swept inside to take what was his, and that was it. Chuck brought his hands to Casey’s biceps, along the slippery slick-wet skin, until he came to the sleeve, feeling his plastered-on black polo, drenched and cleaving to the outline of every hard slope of his torso. 

Damn, his boyfriend was crazy. 

In the most ridiculously fantastic way.

Soaking wet, water sluicing down their necks and throats, the hard press of his body against his …. and Casey kissed him, mingling lips and droplets of warm water to his. When the kid thought the kiss would slowly dissolve, Casey sucked his tongue into his mouth, teasing him with lazy slow strokes. This is what I want to do for you everywhere, it said.

Chuck whimpered at the painful-sweet kiss, magnified by a thousand when the agent shifted his leg, wedged between Chuck’s thighs, and pressed in. At the friction, the kid’s whimper became a groan, his pushing back into the tile turning into a slow rub of movement. Because he needed it. 

In answer to the clumsy thrusts, Casey chuckled deep in his throat, cupped the back of his neck, delving deep in his mouth. Then, through the warm murkiness, Chuck registered he was pulling back, teeth biting his lower lip, gently leaving a nip there, going lower to his neck. The bandana. Tucking a finger under it, Casey had to shove that damn thing out of the way, and Chuck felt the wet drag of cloth, lips at his bare shoulder. He bowed his head to taste him, kiss and suck his neck. A few seconds later, Casey loosened his grip, shifted his legs and stepped back, taking that delicious friction with him.

Maybe he does want to kill him, Chuck thought, biting down a stab of disappointment. 

“Casey, I … I hate to keep asking this … but … what are you doing now?” Chuck licked the water off his lips, trying not to stare at the interesting swells of fabric over his chest. “Because I had no problem with what you were doing a minute ago.” 

A wet smirk broadened, despite the drenched shirt and mist trickling over the side of his face. “Weren’t you listening, Bartowski?”

Frowning at him, Chuck stepped back out of the direct spray and shook his head, unflattening the loose brown curls that had been sticking to his neck and brow. “It’s a little difficult to process information when you’re hanging upside down, you know,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

Casey actually laughed at that. “More fun my way. Nothing beats the look on your face.” 

“My face?” Chuck gave him a dirty look, peeved for a few reasons. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but when you do the cave man act – which pisses me off a little, by the way – my face is pressed to your as– wait. What are you doing?” 

“This.” When Casey gently pushed him along the tile wall, Chuck jolted back. “Slide down a little, Seabiscuit. I need to get something.”

“Sea – something?” Chuck felt a red bloom coming on. “Because I thought what you had was … uh, working?”

Casey snorted. “Not yet.” Now that Chuck had moved, he watched as Casey reached past his waist, snatching a washcloth from the towel bar that his body had been blocking. 

“And that is for …?” Chuck asked, sliding back.

“Washing the grime off you, Bartowski,” Casey replied plainly, as if that was obvious. He reached to the side, where an inset tile shelf held a few plastic bottles and a loofah, and grabbed the container of vanilla scented soap. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you get the hard to reach places, kid.”

“Hah. You know something, Casey? That look? I never know when you’re serious, or joking, or maybe –”

“This is me being serious. Hold still.” 

“Uh, are you … oh.” Watching him squeeze out a dollop on the cloth, Chuck held out his hand, waggling his fingers. “Pass it over – hey! Stop that!

“Close your eyes then, if you don’t want to get soap in them.”

Since he was already scraping the cloth along his cheek, Chuck decided now would be a good time to shut his mouth and comply. Huffing, the kid closed his eyes and slumped against the tile, tipping his head back against the cool wall, and let him do it. At a silent nudge, the kid turned his head, feeling the rough but soothing sweep over his other cheek, trailing down to his neck in lazy swirls.

And staying still, he let him wash away the grease and dirt, every bit of accumulated pain and shit, the stains of the past four weeks. Dissolving under his hands.

“I get it … you know,” Chuck said quietly after a minute.

“You get what,” Casey asked, moving down to his chest, long methodical sweeps. The cloth stopped at his upper chest, then the lower stomach to gently scrape away at a more stubborn streak of grime. “But if this is about –”

“I get why you’re doing this,” Chuck cut in, inhaling sharply when the cloth raked over his ribcage. “You’re not good at apologies, you feel like crap for letting your own feelings – and God knows, you had to finally own up to that little gem – hurt both of us, so now you want to show me –”

“Bartowski?”

“Yef.”

“Feel this?” Casey asked.

It was hard not to. The cloth was pressed over his lips. At least his reflexes had kicked in when he felt the washcloth swooping up, and he had the wherewithal to seal his lips. Otherwise, it would probably be crammed between them right about now. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good. You finish that sentence, and apologies that I owe be damned, I will pry your teeth open with this and stuff it in there.” He nodded at the cloth. “Got it?”

Chuck pointed a lop-sided grin at him from behind the washcloth. Owe him. See, that wasn’t so hard to get in touch with sticky feelings, to understand what it’s like to be a mere mortal, was it, Mister Superspy? Not that he would say it – that would just get him the washcloth against his back teeth for certain. 

 

With a glare of warning, Casey removed the cloth and picked up where he had left off, softly scrubbing at another fleck. 

“You know, you could … go … a little lower,” Chuck told him, keeping his eyes fastened to Casey’s face. “I think I see another smudge down there.”

“Subtle, kid.” Casey shook his head, buffing the cloth over his stomach and back up to his chest again. Back up? Instead of doing about a hundred other things he had been invited to do down there, his boyfriend completely befuddled Chuck by grabbing the shampoo bottle next. Cupping his hand, he poured some out and massaged it into his hair, fingertips ruffling through the wet curls. “Hold still.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect the full treatment.”

“Heh.”

Chuck was miles past embarrassment, so he let that one go. When Casey steered him under the water, he lowered his chin and squeezed his eyes shut while the water coursed over both of their bodies, raw heat on bare skin. Feeling braver, Chuck reached out blindly and grasped Casey’s upper arms, feeling the hard bulges of muscles swell and roll under his fingers. “Uh, something else occurred to me.”

“What is that?” Casey ran his hands down Chuck’s chest, strong strokes that sped up the cadence of his heartbeat, until he realized his boyfriend was only chasing the last of the soap off his skin. “You’re squirming again. Almost done.”

“Fiiine.”

A few more leisurely, sure strokes, and the kid heard a soft grunt of satisfaction. Trying to translate the noise, he opened one eye to see Casey draping the cloth over the towel bar, turning to face him. “Yeah, that’s better, kid,” he rumbled, leaning in to crowd him against the tile, easing his hands all the way up to Chuck’s shoulders, feeling the brush of wet skin against his. Casey’s gaze drifted down to the bandana, sopping wet and slung around his neck, before pinning him with a blue stare. Definitely mischievous. “Now what were you yammering about? Something occurred to you?”

Chuck focused on the pattern of the tile, not thinking of every inch of the long muscular body pressed to his. Or one of about three dozen ways he needed to come up with to get him naked. “Uh, I was just thinking that … before the hot water runs out? We might want to … you know, get rid of the soaked clothing – it’s a little heavy, isn’t it?”

And a nuisance. The question hung there for a moment until Casey finally did exactly what Chuck hoped he would do. Pressing his open mouth to his, he kissed him, sliding his tongue inside, hard, deep; stroking his fingers over the trickling water along his jawbone. When Chuck opened up under him, Casey growled into his mouth, caught Chuck’s bottom lip between his teeth, forcing a gasp from the kid when he sucked on his tongue. Just hard lust, nothing else. 

It was incredible, and if he wasn’t totally fucking hard before his boyfriend had to pull out a soap dispenser – a damn soap dispenser! – now every bit of urgency roiling under the surface bubbled up. Made him groan against Casey’s lips, made his knees wilt and give out a little. That was when Casey, always the problem solver, took the opportunity to wedge a hard thigh between his legs one more time. 

Oh … right there. Chuck’s eyes fluttered a little sluggishly, and he pressed back.

A snicker. “Gonna faint on me, Bartowski?” Casey asked, moving for his throat. The bandana was in the way, and he made quick work of the knot, removing it in a wet drag, wrapping the cloth around his fist. “Don’t want to explain a cracked head in the shower to your big sister.”

“You know, the fainting was only the one time – and what are you –” 

Chuck let out a surprised huff as Casey ended that with a love bite on his collarbone. The sensation shot straight down to his lap, a gasoline-charged arrow of adrenaline. He couldn’t get loose from this, a tight rubber band of reaction, holding him on the brink of snapping. A pair of strong hands trailed down his arms, to his wrists, circling them. He was kissing him again, making filthy noises, filling his mouth with a burn he could taste. It wasn’t just the kiss, it was the blast of energy and power that poured into it. 

No one else had kissed him like this. Lurching to stay upright, Chuck gave in to the nudging of Casey’s feet and knees, pressing him backwards until he felt the chill of the tile down his spine, the hot pulsing spray of water where he stood on the edge of the stream. 

He could get used to this, kissing like this, except for the pesky fact that Casey hadn’t shed any clothing. Yet. To get his shirt off, Chuck lowered one hand to the hem and began the slow drag over his stomach. But his boyfriend, for a reason Chuck could not begin to fathom, was having none of that. Rather, he clamped his fingers around his wrist, then the other, and Chuck felt his bent arm straighten with tension. That position was a problem, the kid figured, because he very badly wanted to use that arm to remove a certain wet black polo shirt … and, hell yes, a pair of sodden jeans while he was at it. 

So he took a deep breath, licked Casey’s bottom lip, and then pulled back just enough to make his boyfriend move in, needing to grasp his collar, hard enough to tear –

And he couldn’t take control of his arm because of the sharp tug that strained against his wrist. He pulled again, harder this time, but he couldn’t. 

What? 

Chuck stopped short when he only felt an increase of pressure. Startled, he jerked his head back, breaking the kiss. “Ow! Dammit. Is this –”

“Ow, Bartowski? Really?” His eyes were a scant few inches away, and without breaking eye contact, Casey’s thumb traced over his sensitive inner wrist. “It’s soft, right … kid?”

“S-soft? How –” Chuck’s eyes tracked to his naked chest, down his arms to his wrists, feeling a light digging and scraping of tender skin there. Brown eyes blew wide. “What is th-that?” Tugging uselessly, Chuck raised his head to stare at his bat shit crazy boyfriend. “Are you –”

“What’s it look like, Bartowski?”

There was a towel bar cemented to the wall. His wrists were bound together. And he saw a fucking soggy blue and white piece of cloth coiled and knotted like a snake around his hands. 

“Oh shit.” Halting, Chuck wet his lips, needing to press back to the wall and steady his feet. He glanced down, assessing the situation like any good spy should. At least, that’s what he read somewhere.

The ‘Remain Calm’ pep talk between his ears failed epically right about then. 

“What does it look like? Are you …?” A shaky breath, and Chuck groaned in frustration. “It looks like you found a new and creative way to practice a Boy Scout knot with a bandana, that’s what it looks like!” he said, sounding a little screechy. “Answer this! Why am I tied to the towel bar?!”

Casey shrugged, stealing a quick kiss from a bewildered face. “More fun this way.”

“Wh-what?” Chuck blinked. “Fun? For who?!”

“Heh.” Bending his head, Casey brushed his lips over his; pure compulsion, pure heat. A large palm covered Chuck’s hand, one finger dipping under the bond and giving it a playful tug. “Even you’d be surprised by the answer to that,” he said against his mouth before pulling back. “I’ll let you tumble that one around in that nerd brain of yours. Maybe lay away awake at night – doing a little of that soul searching you like so much when you figure it out, huh, kid?

Chuck shot Casey a look and gave his hands a yank. They didn’t budge. Damn, of course he’s good at knots too. “You … son of a bitch – what is that supposed to mean?”

“Running is gonna suck for you, Bartowski, ‘cause you’re already breathing hard.” 

“I’m – what?!”

Leaning in further, he kissed him. And like this, it was easy for Casey to skim his hand over the tender flesh of Chuck’s ribcage, without annoying arms thrashing, so he did it, swiping back and forth a few times, then moved his mouth to his cheek. “You’ve … thought about it, haven’t you?” he asked. “You do trust me, right, kid?”

“No! I mean, n-no to the first part, and yes, of course I do, but ….”

“No?” Casey studied his face with the smokiest blue eyes of his spectrum. He inclined his head, grazing his lips over Chuck’s neck, to the hollow, and lower. On the way down, he dropped a kiss on his chest, lips touching the path of water trickling between his pecs, coasting over his stomach. “What about this … kid? You ever think about this?”

A rolling shiver drew tight and low in his belly, the place where Casey’s mouth teased and licked. Chuck’s hands, dangling from the towel bar thanks to the knotted bandana, cinched into fists at the touch. Lowering his gaze, he watched Casey’s mouth on his wet skin, now dipping his head below his belly button. “N-no ….” The kid had to stop and swallow. “I’ve … I’ve never thought about this.”

“Yeah?” Casey didn’t bother looking up. He brushed his lips over his lower stomach, then down, tracing the skin above his low slung jeans. His hands traveled down Chuck’s middle until they were halted by the pants. “God, these fucking things gotta go,” he heard Casey mutter. 

“W-wait. You’re not going to ri – gah.”

Two strong hands clinched into his waist, tight, and before he could stammer out the rest, Casey had dropped to his knees in front of him. On his knees. Holy Christ. With water streaming over his hair, rivulets running down his face and thick arms, he then tipped his head up to meet Chuck’s eyes, giving him a cocky look. 

“What about this, kid? Ever think about this?”

Oh God. Chuck closed his eyes, feeling his toes curl against the tile floor. “I … uh, I don’t –”

“The truth, Bartowski,” said with a lick at his abdomen.

“Okay, okay … this p-part?” Stiffening, Chuck tugged at the bandana, though he had no clue why, since it wasn’t loosening until Casey damn well felt like unlacing the knot. “Maybe … this part, okay – yes. I’ve thought about it. S-some.” 

“Some.” Casey chuckled and bent forward, catching the front of his soused pants in his teeth. A soft bite, and that was enough to wrench the groan completely out of Chuck’s throat. “Thought so,” Casey murmured in response, smirking up at him. “Knew it.”

Damn if that bastard wasn’t teasing him to watch him blush. Chuck yanked against the bonds again and blew out a breath of surrender. “Okay, but … God, do we have to talk about this now?” he asked, wriggling his fingers. “Because we’re standing in a shower with our clothes on and –"

“Yeah, good thinking, kid.” Dragging a hand front and center, Casey methodically popped the button with two fingers, glancing over at the bandana. “Besides, champ, look at the bright side. I could’ve stuffed it in your mouth, but I decided against it.”

“Well. Aren’t I a lucky guy?” Chuck stretched his hands, managing to make even that sarcastic. “Okay … I can’t believe I’m asking this … but I have to hear your scary yet logical reasoning behind, uh, not doing that?”

“It’s simple,” Casey replied, tugging on the zipper. “If I did, I’d ruin half the fun.”

Chuck sucked in a breath and kept his head down, forcing his dark eyes to stay open, watching those long nimble fingers bring the zipper down. “Th-there’s that word again. Fun?”

“Yep. Because what I’m going to do to you, sport?” As two hands moved to the flap of the jean’s opening, Casey looked up to meet his gaze. “I want to hear you babble and stutter and get your tongue in a square knot while I suck you off, that’s why.”

Offended on ten levels by that, Chuck’s mouth fell open. “I would never –”

Casey rolled his eyes and gave the jeans and boxers one brusque yank. “Yeah.” As in, yeah, riiight. Another yank, bringing them over the hips and down past his knees.

Wait. 

Did he say suck off?

“Ah! Careful, careful ….” Chuck felt his stomach shrink in. “That’s not –”

“When am I not careful?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that, because I can come up with about a dozen examples without even –”

“Shut it.” A final long drag, and the pants were in a dripping puddle at his ankles. Beneath him, Chuck heard his boyfriend then grunt – which was an accomplishment considering the amount of blood pounding between his ears. “You were holding back, kid,” Casey said. “Looks like you had one more surprise for me.”

“Oh.” Chuck’s chest hitched with a breath. The pull on his hands was weak this time, a pointless gesture, because at the edge of the abyss, he was sinking fast. “Casey …,” he breathed, shifting his hips uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you were thinking, but after the … what you did a few minutes ago against the wall, well, none of this should be a surprise!”

Casey lifted his head and grinned, long and slow. “Point, Bartowski,” he said, sliding his hands up Chuck’s long legs, caressing lean muscle until his palms curled on his hips, holding on. And positioned like this, they framed a perfect curve, long achy inches of Chuck’s cock straining forward. “Yeah … not bad.” He wet his lips, seemed to take a shallow breath. “This surprise beats the hell out of touching my car.”

“Uh, you’re really going to piss me off if you keep t-talking about that car.” Chuck strained his fists, feeling the dig of cloth. “I mean, isn’t there anything else you want to –”

“That car?” Casey made a disgruntled noise, but seemed to let it go for now. His eyes coursed over Chuck’s arms, down to his bound hands, and with the smile of the devil, he bent forward to kiss him on his hip, licking there for a second or two. “You know what else?” he asked.

“Oh … shit …. Wh-what?”

“The bandana. You can fight that all you want,” Casey spoke, his voice rough. “’Cause, I’ll tell you, kid … it’ll only make me harder.” 

Harder? Chuck whimpered, tipping his head back, all his muscles shuddering despite the warmth of the spray. 

And when Casey finally gave him the heat of his mouth, brown eyes drifted shut, hands knotted and flexed against the cloth. 

No thinking. Only this. 

He had Casey on his knees before him, soaked to the skin. His long muscular body tense, fingertips digging into his hips, not wasting a damn bit of time to take him deep in the back of his throat. And his tongue – Casey could do this … thing – Chuck had no clue what it was, but he knew it felt fucking great when he did it. A looping motion and swish, the very tip caressing, tasting, at the same time his mouth pulled, increasing pressure. “Oh. Oh God … k-keep doing that….”

It worked. John Casey didn’t back down from a challenge. So methodically, he sank down over smooth hot skin, drawing up, giving him a tiny scrape with his teeth on the trip back down … cupping his balls, a little tug, fondling them in his palm ….

All of the techniques well-practiced after five months of exploration. It was what they both did. Finding out what the other wanted, what made him buck or grind into the sheets, what made his body let go of control, and giving it to him. Simple. This was Chuck’s. Casey knew it. 

His warm mouth on skin, he settled into an excruciatingly perfect rhythm, and Chuck moaned with a ragged breath of deep appreciation. Hearing the kid moan, Casey groaned in response, letting him slide out for a gasp. “Yeah … you like that,” he whispered hoarsely, lowering, groaning around him again. 

Torture. The guttural vibration shot through Chuck’s belly. “You … oh fuck … Casey.” His raspy voice was Casey’s reward, and the bastard knew what he was doing to him. “God, you are … yeah, that’s so ….”

It was overwhelming, kind of frantic. Chuck’s hands clawed at the air, more futility than anything, then wrapped around the towel bar, squeezing it between his fingers, while the damn him mantra sang in his head. He gave his own growl at him, jerked his hips, squeezing his butt cheeks together as he tried to get more of that dirty mouth on his length. 

He could do nothing but this, held there, thrusting hard, blind and numb to everything but the feel of his mouth and tongue on his cock. He let his head fall back against the tile with a thunk and looked up, lips parting to suck in sweet oxygen. 

He had to give Casey some bonus points here. This wasn’t the exact scenario he had dreamed up. This one was way hotter. And … maybe slightly more confusing, but that was for later. 

“C-Casey.” Chuck’s nostrils flared, and he took a more secure grip on the bar. “Oh. That is so … so good.” 

Casey pulled back, hands picking up where his mouth left off, thumb cupping the crown, swishing. “Yeah, atta boy ….” His voice was as rich as velvet, barely audible over the constant stream of water on tile. “You want this?”

Oh. That bastard. 

But instead of a stinging torment of drawing it out, as he half expected, Casey’s fingers tightened around the base of his cock, and he sank down in one smooth glide. This wasn’t going to be sweet, or the steady and slow spiraling buildup that Casey eased him into when he was in the mood to subdue. Not a chance of that. The way he worked him into his mouth, hot friction and teeth, the kid knew how it was going to unfold this time. He braced himself for the naked revelation, being taken to exhaustion. 

Right then, under those bruising fingers, he had to look down, just so he could take in the vision of a mile of long body, drenched to the skin ….

“Shit … Jesus, Casey, you’re ….” Killing me. Raw arousal made his voice shake, and on a singularly knife-slick glide, Chuck made an inarticulate noise, part plea, part moan, all need. He opened his eyes and inclined his head down, blinking heavily, forcing himself to focus on the man in front of him.

The display of broad shoulders, muscles along his arms and back bunching and rippling, the gleam of water over his skin, down to the flex of each movement, only made Chuck’s face hotter. 

Christ, you are beautiful. What are you doing with me?

Almost as if Casey could hear his thoughts, needing to quell the doubt, he sank down and stayed for a moment, like that, swishing his tongue, soft and telling …

Holy holy God. Not now … not now….

… Kentucky Derby. 

Because oh hell, Chuck was right about one thing. After a buildup of weeks, hype and daydreams, this was going to be over before the ice in his mint julep could melt. 

“Ca-sey …?” He had to wet his mouth, felt his head lolling to the side, glazed brown eyes watching him. “I know … we talked about this, and y-y-yes, it may seem really … oh shit … really early for this to happen, but you should know that it’s gonna happen and you need to – gahhateyouforthat – stop or keep going or –” 

“C’mon kid, let it go,” he whispered, halfway down again as soon as the urging was out of his mouth. 

He couldn’t help it. Chuck sucked in his breath at the warm glide. The world slowed to a crawl, time floating, moving towards a sliding countdown. One jerk of his hips, with thigh muscles and feet straining ahead until the yank on his hands stopped him. Fighting back on this, and his own release, was impossible; he bowed his head down, closed his eyes, trapped by the weight of it.

Let it go. 

He did. Just a raw reaction, graceless, fumbling and perfect.

When he came out of the fog, swaying on his feet – maybe that was why the asshole tied him in the first place? – Chuck glanced down in time to see his lover spitting out a mouthful towards the drain. 

Oh, nice. Vaunted problem-solving skills at work again, he noted.

Casey rose to his feet like a tree from the ground, hands smoothing over the kid’s lean muscles on the way up the his body. As he leaned forward, his hair tickling Chuck’s neck, he brushed his lips over his skin at his shoulder, leaving a small bite. “Later … you’ll beg for more, eh?” he breathed, knuckles dragging down the center of his chest. “Hmm?”

“More?” The insinuation put a spark of heat on Chuck’s cheeks. “Incorrigible does not even begin to describe –”

Casey cut him off with a hand touching his jaw, a thumb on his cheek, using pressure to steer his face up. He bent and kissed him, a slow steady press of lips to take away the wordy protest. Strong fingers slid down his arm, over his hands, and with a few tugs, the bandana loosened. Now with his hands freed, the kid reached out clumsily, grabbing a fistful of Casey’s shirt, not caring that the drenched polo was now clinging to him as well. Casey’s other hand slid along his middle, and Chuck felt a small jostle, grasping that his boyfriend was turning off the faucet. The spray of water ended abruptly, leaving them soaking and dripping … and kissing hard under the last trickling droplets.

I can stay like this, for now or forever.

 

Only when Casey made a noise did Chuck pull back, blinking at him. “What … what is it?” the kid asked, having to catch his breath.

Those sea blue eyes flashed, and the agent angled his head to the side as if listening for something. 

“John, did you hear me? What are you –”

“Wait ….” After a second or two, the very distant ding of the egg timer made him glimpse down at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes on the nose.” Casey grinned, that lazy wicked one, and brought his hand down, grabbing a handful of skinny nerd ass. “Knew you had it in ya, kid.”

“Wh-what?! You were timing us?!”

Casey shrugged. “Didn’t want you to ruin dinner,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, shaking out the water from the tips. “I’m going to go change. You should go check on that, sport.” Moving in close, Casey kissed the mystified expression from Chuck’s face, and there was that straightening and tightening of all those pleasing muscles when he winked and turned. “Can’t wait to see what else you have for me.”

Chuck leaned back against the tile, rubbing his wrists and glaring at the agent’s broad back, his soaked shirt clinging to each rise and angle underneath. “You know something, Casey?” He kicked at his pants to get the damn things off his ankles so that he could walk. “You can still be a real asshole sometimes without even trying!”

Toeing off the jeans, Chuck pretended to ignore the dirty chuckle from the hallway.

And when he was certain Casey would not turn around, he flipped him off. 

Then, he smiled.

-x-End Way Back Chapter Seventeen-x-


	24. Chapter Eighteen

Casey vs. the Way Back 

(Chapter Eighteen)

 

“So wait a minute, I was following this entire story until you got to the part about the – are you sure that’s what it was?”

“You heard me.” Casey turned his attention to the wine glass, lifting it to take a drink of the Cabernet Ellie had suggested pairing with goat cheese lasagna. “An iguana.”

“And you saw this iguana …?” Though Casey would have no earthly reason to lie to him about the reptile, Chuck couldn’t help but look at him skeptically. “A rubbery-textured row of spines along the back? A whip-like tail?”

“He was green, Bartowski. I saw that much.”

“He?” Chuck had been fiddling with his fork, but this made him set it down and thumb his empty plate to the side. “The iguana was a he?” 

“Or she, or it for all I know.” One of Casey’s palms drifted over his broad shoulders to work at a knot of a muscle. “Jesus, do you think I was stopping to take inventory? See if it had a pecker or a hole?”

“I … okay, I don’t think that’s the way it works with iguanas,” Chuck explained, putting his elbows on the table. “Anything of the lizard species, really. I think I read somewhere that the block-shaped head and jowls identify the –”

“Why the hell do you even know this?” As he used his fork to chase the last scoop of pasta on his plate, Casey shook his head, making a mystified noise in the back of his throat. “They can get long too, I’ll tell you.” The mere mention of the reptilian critter curled his lip in disgust. “Leave it to a moron who woke up one morning and decided to blow up a power plant for kicks to have one as a pet.” 

Chuck couldn’t help but smile at his stiff shoulders and steeled jaw from across their table. It was cute, really, the way his boyfriend was trying to hide a bout of the heebie-jeebies by taking another healthy swig of wine. Though he considered pointing it out to him, the kid treasured the use of his opposable thumbs too much to utter the words ‘cute’ and ‘Casey’ in the same breath. 

Still, he had to tweak him some. “It’s the eyes, isn’t it?” Chuck asked, sounding conspiratorial. “You can tell me.” 

“The eyes, Bartowski?”

“You know, any species whose eyes can give them almost a 360 degree perfect field of vision. One on each side of the head? Creepy, huh?”

“That wasn’t it.”

The kid’s grin broadened. “I get it. I mean, I know why it freaked you out some.”

“I don’t freak out, Bartowski,” Casey said between gritted teeth.

“It’s the vertical slit, isn’t it? For the pupil? Or is it the fact that they can rotate their sockets independently of the other?” With a quick grab, the two dinner rolls remaining in the basket became tools for a demonstration. Now pretending to be serious, Chuck held them up in the vicinity of his ears and swiveled them in opposite directions. “Did the scary lizard look like this, Agent Casey?”

“Iguana, for Christ sakes.” Their gaze met, just for a moment, letting Chuck catch a glimpse of amusement in those bright blue eyes. “Give me one of those,” Casey ordered, leaning over his plate to swipe the closest eyeball/dinner roll. “Didn’t your big sister teach you not to play with food? Besides, I didn’t say anything about the eyes.” He shrugged, and then shifted his concentration to buttering the roll. “They just get … long, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Chuck cleared his throat to mask a laugh. “I think you mentioned that. So, Casey, how long was your little herbivorous friend you met today?”

Casey thought about it between chews. “Not that I stopped to measure it, princess, but at least four feet.”

“Wow. Impressive,” Chuck noted, deciding to take the last dinner roll for himself. “Morgan’s cousin, Remo, had one almost six feet long. Huh. I wonder what happened to it. Or … Remo, for that matter ….” 

“Can we keep your girlfriend out of this?” Tuning him out, Casey bit down on his lip and scrunched his forehead, making Chuck wonder what was putting that look on his face. “Why didn’t the FBI know that those scaly suckers could jump that high,” the agent finally grumbled under his breath. “Treated the walls of that cooler like a fucking high jump in the Olympics.”

Chuck stopped mid-chew and tilted his head at him. “Iguanas can … jump?”

“Yeah, trust me on this. They can jump, Bartowski.” Casey used the same tone when he spoke about iguanas as the FBI, Chuck detected, but thought this might not be the time to ask about it. “Not as high, though, as about a half dozen G-men.” His lips twitched up in a smile. “When the Feds opened the ice chest, it looked like someone had detonated a polyester-suit-and-cheap-loafer IED. God, they could run, too.” Casey let out a sharp snort over the top of his wine glass. “Good thing those boys – and lady – all passed the PFT timed sprint at Quantico, eh?”

Chuck’s eyebrows quirked up, arching under a few unruly curls. “Well, rocketing iguanas to break up the tedium of an attack on a state-owned target,” he said. “Sometimes spies can have cool lives, I guess.” 

“And nerds can be smart asses, so that makes us even.”

Chuck had no answer for that, so he busied his mouth with a piece of the roll for a minute, watching his boyfriend fork up a slice of tomato and suck it off the tines. All right, that should not be hot as hell.

Maybe that’s the thing he does with his –

“Got a problem, Bartowski?”

“Um, there’s more tomato?” 

“Nah.”

Frowning, the kid leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, and maybe still feeling a smidgen of his post-shower bliss, Chuck lifted one of his bare feet and slid it between the spread of Casey’s thighs, resting his heel on the chair. “Because this is a little too crazy, even compared to our usual fun times.”

“Fun, kid?” Despite Casey’s straight face, his eyes narrowed just that much as he darted a glance down to his lap. There was no doubt Casey had felt the movement, the light brush against his jeans, the place where Chuck was innocently resting his foot. “Didn’t know you thought that part of spy work was fun.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. The biochemical weapons whack job I flashed on? Torrens?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Why would someone who has the brain capacity to build chemical weapons storm Castaic like that?”

“What part of today’s operation didn’t fit into the neat little container of your plans, Bartowski?” The impromptu half-naked-all-crazy shower? 

Damn him. He’s smiling behind that glass. 

Well. Reaching for his water as a flush crept up his cheeks, Chuck decided he needed to do something about that smile. So once he set the glass down, he gave in to the urge to wiggle his toes, stretch them out a little. 

Yeah. Better.

At the touch, Casey’s lips parted in a short intake of breath. His smile disappeared, his eyes darkening with a look that seemed to say, ‘Yeah, I’ll play your game’. A sensual truth or dare. When he came forward a few inches, shifting his ass in the seat, Chuck pretended not to notice, as if his toes were only inadvertently swishing along his inner thigh. 

Like that, Casey?

“Oh-kay, maybe in Spymoria,” Chuck said, wetting his lips while he poked at a lettuce leaf, “this is a normal day for you, but according to your story, his getaway vehicle from Castaic was an ice cream truck. And instead of packing a gun, he was packing a four foot iguana –”

“– Slippery little bastard –”

“– In an ice chest.” To emphasize his point, and only for that reason, Chuck playfully wriggled his toes against rough denim, sliding his other foot on top of Casey’s thigh. In truth, there was nothing like using your boyfriend for a solid, muscly, footrest. “That’s not normal, Casey. These things don’t happen in my world.”

“Always thought your world needed some expanding,” Casey said into his glass.

His voice. The way he drew it out at the end, it could fill the air like smoke rising from a flare of tinder. He’s testing me, wondering how far I’ll go. The thought sent a hard shiver down his spine.

“We could’ve used you today,” Casey added, swirling the ruby liquid in the glass.

Chuck’s foot stilled. “I see. Since there wasn’t enough girly behavior with six FBI agents bursting out of the back of an ice cream truck with an iguana on their heels? Oh, I meant to ask, did you get that recorded on your phone? Remember when I showed you how to use your video app? I could post that on YouTube –”

“Bartowski, I –”

“But my point is, you could’ve used me for what? To add shrieks of terror to the mix, because I’ve got to tell you, I’m not good with lizards, or any genus of the reptile family, honestly, so I –”

“If I weren’t holding my glass, you know where my hand would be?”

“Um.” Chuck took a deep breath, thoughts whirring. “I have a strong suspicion that it wouldn’t be one of the more interesting locales I can think of.” Mustering up his bravery, he waggled his brows at him … and flexed his toes. “Unless that gruff look on your face is only to throw me off, and you do plan on … well, you know.”

“Let me finish.” The thighs shifted inward against his foot, and a large hand landed on his calf, squeezing lightly. “I meant the douchebag. He had stacks of papers. Drawings and schematics. Bomb making materials. And despite the ice cream truck,” Casey stopped to roll his eyes, “some of this shit was sophisticated.”

“I still don’t get how I could help.”

“The drawings. The FBI – well, hell, no one – could make sense of them. Now the nutcase and his diagrams are in FBI custody. We’ll have to go through Beckman to officially requisition them on Monday morning. See what else this idiot was up to and who he was working with. So, what I meant was that we could’ve used the Intersect.” The hand stroked his calf, up and down his leg with an absent touch. “Could’ve used Chuck Bartowski today,” he added under his breath.

The beaming grin rose like the first rays of sunshine over the horizon. “Casey?” Chuck shoved his glass away so quickly it nearly tipped over. “Did you just compliment me? Not the Intersect? Maybe recognize that I’m more than just a pair of bendable long legs and a brain doing its flashy thing?”

“Don’t get cocky. And get that damn grin off your face. Fucking blinding me,” Casey muttered, averting his gaze to the side. 

“So ‘could’ve used me’? Does that mean instead of being stuck here in the apartment, I get to go back to the way things were at least?” the kid asked. “Not that I want to be a spy or the Intersect, but if I can … help? Well, I think, for now … that’s what I should do.”

Casey appraised him with a look and smiled smugly. “You need a hell of a lot more training, sport, until that happens.”

“Tr-training?” What Casey did right there? That took a special talent. Because it really was remarkable how he could make everything sound like sweaty sex in the sheets. Chuck just swallowed, adjusting his foot on its perch. “Uh, I … is this the kind that involves –”

“Running. Monday, 6 a.m., and after our shift at the Buy More, we’ll head over to Montebello and see if you remember anything about handling a loaded weapon. Still know how to keep your arm straight and stiff, kid?”

The vaporous haze of gunpowder that always smelled like the Fourth of July inside Montebello had nothing on that lewd chuckle. As a tremor rolled through him, Chuck’s toes curled, rode up to the place where the spread of Casey’s thighs drew in.

“St-stiff and …? Wait, I’m going to be carrying a gun?” Chuck started to protest, but Casey held up a hand and slanted him an exasperated look.

“You’ll still be carrying your girl-tranquer, goddess.”

Chuck glowered at him. “Very funny – reminds me of a story I heard. With enough shots, even an NSA agent the size of a house can be brought down by a – what was the term? Girl-tranq –”

“Can it, kid,” Casey broke in, rubbing his fingers over the long shin on his lap. “The only reason you’re learning how to fire a gun is this: the first rule of combat is being prepared for the worst – though most of the time, I’m hard pressed, Bartowski, to think of something worse than you with a loaded weapon.”

“Didn’t have a problem with that earlier,” Chuck managed to mumble into his napkin. 

“That was the ‘mostly’ part,” Casey replied coolly. “If you’re going to be the Intersect, spy-boy, you need to learn the basics.”

“I thought I had the basics down pat by now.” His foot shifted, finding a suitable place to rub back and forth over stiff denim. “The whole ‘drop and roll’ thing?”

“Not that. Get your mind off your pecker for five minutes.”

It took considerable effort on Chuck's part not to gape at the irony. “Fine. Though, I am surprised that you, of all people, could say that with a straight face.” He snatched one of the green olives from Casey’s salad plate, and studying him, he popped it in his mouth. “But I have a question. You mentioned the Intersect. Getting me trained?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Earlier in the week, when all of this was going on, you asked me about Intersect 2.0 testing. You said that Beckman requested me to take part in her little ‘Let’s scramble your brain’ game.”

“I think I remember something about telling her to go fuck herself, too.”

Chuck looked up from his plate, inclined his head at him , and gave in to the urge to drag his toes over a large lump. “Glad you remember the conversation so vividly. So maybe now they’ll have someone else to be her ‘Beck and Call Girl … or Guy’, and I won’t have to – what is it?”

Every sharp angle of Casey’s face hardened, his lips thinning. Whenever he saw the look, Chuck was reminded of a box slamming shut. “Nothing,” the agent replied. “Any left in the bottle?

From the briefest flicker in his eyes, Chuck knew he was lying. Why would he do that? 

On the other hand, did he want to ruin a hard fought dinner – and better yet, perfect foot placement – by bringing it up now? 

Chuck shot him an inquisitive look, but after a minute, he made up his mind to store that away for later. “You know, you didn’t need me there today,” he offered with a mild tone. “You needed Jeff and Lester.”

“The moron twins?” Casey seemed to relax a bit as he began stacking a few of the dirty dishes. “I know I’m going to regret this, but why?”

“Iguanas.” Prodding gently, Chuck used his toe to get his attention away from the plates.

It worked. While he examined the guiltless look on Chuck’s face, Casey set the plates down, making a low sound in his chest. A shadow of humor – and lust – crossed through his eyes. ”What the hell do iguanas have to do with those two?”

“They’re raising a few of them in Lester’s mom’s basement,” Chuck replied, swishing the sole of his foot side to side, acting as if he didn’t notice the reaction. “Lester said that they’re raising them to sell the skins, but Jeff says they taste like chicken.”

“Please tell me you’re making this up.”

“Nope.” Jesus. Feel that. Why is it fair that he’s hot and has the dick the circumference of a Louisville slugger? The wide end. “Uh, in fact, Morgan once told me that in South America, they refer to them as gallina de palo.” Chuck smiled around another bite of an olive. “Chicken of the tree? Get it?”

“Kid, I could go the rest of my life without hearing this, so why don’t you –”

“Of course, Morgan’s cousin didn’t eat his,” Chuck went on, tracing the bulge with his toe, raising his eyes to meet Casey’s gaze. “Remo called his iguana Chet. Would you name an iguana Chet?” 

At the touch, the lazy rubbing, blue eyes went from warm to a slow burn as they crossed over his face. “Bartowski, if you don’t end this –”

“Wait. Or was it ferrets? You know, carnivorous mammal of the polecat family? Kinda cute actually, if you can get past the abnormally claw-like –”

A long, meaty arm shot out, latching on to a fistful of Chuck’s burgundy colored t-shirt that he had thrown on after the shower. The kid felt dishes sliding under his chest and elbows as he was dragged over the tabletop, his breath and flow of words halting in his throat. The kiss was far from tender, just raw yearning and strength, Casey demanding something hotter, wetter than the shower they had just shared. Oh, hell. The way he could go from zero to sixty, he locked his lips to Chuck’s, a slow and agonizing movement, thrusting between his lips. An ungentle glide of his tongue, and Chuck moaned under him, complying with the silent order to open up. 

His arm swung out blindly, knocking against Ellie’s borrowed china and silverware. The salad plate clattered as the tablecloth bunched up under his hips, and he felt himself sliding. The table. He wouldn’t. Would he?

“Ca-mmph.” Okay. Maybe just this once. Now that his brain was zinging and his heart jolting against his ribcage, the kid was having a hard time putting thoughts together, let alone finding logic to dissuade him of the idea. Instead, he somehow managed to run his hands up Casey’s back to tug him in, drawing his chest closer. 

He feels good. Hard. Unyielding in every way.

But when he yanked again, Casey responded by pushing back, breaking the kiss. 

What? Without pressing him down and doing a dozen dirty things on the table most people would disapprove of, Casey let go of his shirt, settled back in his seat. “You left me no choice there, kid,” he said flatly, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “If I didn’t end it, you’d be stuttering about sea turtles in a minute.”

“Sea turtles? I would never do that.” Holding back on sticking his tongue out at him, Chuck gave a sigh of frustration and straightened the front of his shirt. Then he glimpsed down at his watch. “Thirty-five seconds,” he observed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided grin. “Very good, big guy. I knew you had it in you.”

“Hold on.” The fact that even the great John Casey could be dumbstruck at times only made Chuck’s grin somehow larger. “You were timing me, Bartowski?”

“Mm-hmm.” Under the table, he brought his feet right back to the comfortable position they had found before, rubbing his heel over the top of his jeans, the shape of the swell. “Sometimes you don’t even let me get that far before you stop me, so I think you must be feeling benevolent tonight.”

“Benevolent.” His chest hitched as Chuck traced the outline of his zipper with a toe. “You planned that utter babble to get me to –”

“Jeff and Lester? I don’t think they have iguanas.” His bottom lip jutted out teasingly as he thought about it. “Or ferrets for that matter, but chinchillas? I’ve never asked, but they may – Oh.”

In the span of a heartbeat, he found himself pulled by the shirt front one more time until he was a scant few inches from his boyfriend’s face. When the kid started to flail out an arm, laughing, he was hauled forward to meet his mouth in a wet rough kiss, Casey’s other hand clamped down on the back of his head to hold him. There were times like this when it went beyond the intensity of an orgasm, when every muscle was rigid, tuned in to a press of body or a touch. Damn, he could kiss. 

And dirty dishes could apparently wait.

-x-

An insistent chirping of a phone broke through the muddled haze not thirty seconds later. 

Since the chirping was not a carefully selected ringtone, distinctly personalized for the caller’s relationship and current temperament towards the phone’s owner, but rather a chirp of the more generic variety, it didn’t take an Intersect to figure out whose freaking phone had the timing of the devil.

“Casey, please, you’re not going to, are you?” He heard his breath coming out in sharp pants, betraying him, exposing his willingness to do something Ellie would frown upon if she ever found out. The dining table, Chuck? But with his chest sprawled over implements meant for a much more dignified usage than this, he was more concerned about the butter dish under his elbow at the moment. “And yes, I am begging here, but do not pick up that call.”

Casey lifted his head from the soft curve of Chuck’s neck, where his tongue was just now teasing a sensitive place under his ear. With the tip of his finger, he traced along the stubble on his cheek, swiped over his bottom lip, making every last nerve ending flutter. “I have to take that, kid.”

Chuck’s head landed on the table with a soft thump. Wincing at the knock – and the worse timing in the universe – he screwed his eyes shut. “Tell her I hate her.”

A hand slapped his ass, and even through the denim jeans, it tingled. “That’ll be an improvement from last time, eh?” Chuck heard rustling and heavy footfalls behind him as Casey strode to the living room, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Yes, General.”

God, he never listens.

-x-

“Bartowski.”

Chuck scrambled, tripping backwards into the solid wall of muscle behind him, hands flying. The lathered sponge he was holding squirted out of his fingers, skidding over the countertop. “What’re you –”

“Christ, cupcake, gonna slap me next?” Casey deadpanned. He put an end to the thrashing and any thoughts of an exit strategy, nonetheless, by wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing him against the kitchen sink. “It’s just me.” 

“Why … Why do you keep doing that?!” Chuck used his long reach to retrieve the sponge, but not before angling his head to give the agent a sour look. “Remember? It’s a kitchen. Not an ambush in the caves of Paktia. Sheesh, Casey.”

His boyfriend’s easy laugh skimmed over his skin, sending a tiny ripple of goose bumps up his arms. “Why? Fun, of course.” 

“Fun? There’s that word again!” This time, Chuck attempted to turn his entire body around in the tight space between his arms, just to ensure Casey got an eyeful of his scowl. Instead, he found himself pinned full length, his backside to Casey’s chest and hips … and other prominent body parts that seemed eager to say hello. 

“Slow down, hot stuff.” Casey’s lips brushed a few errant curls over his ear when he spoke, and heat flooded the kid as he kept the press of hard muscle along his spine. “Who did you think it was?” 

“Considering I’m Chuck Bartowski?” he answered while squeezing out the sponge. “You could pretty much take your pick of baddies and evil doers.” Feeling the tension in his muscles slacken, however, he wasted no time settling back into that firm place between his arms. “And just so we both know, I was getting ready to get into my modified Kung Fu stance. Oh.” 

Casey had cupped his ass with one hand, pulled him against his groin, and gave him a slow, even grind to think about. “Really. Sorry I missed it.” 

Bastard. It was hard as hell to stay mad at him. Not when Casey’s steady, easy stroking sent a wave of achy need over him, or the way his warm mouth grazed his neck, picking up where he had left off forty-two minutes ago. So maybe it was a little childish to time the briefing’s duration, but going from the brink of getting bent over the table and, well, having dessert like none other – was it that wrong? – to the General’s untimely call could do that to a man.

Another bump and grind brought him back to reality, and to the wall of horny muscle and flesh behind him. “Seriously, though, can we talk, because – oh, shit – you have to stop doing that.”

“Hmm?” 

A nibble to his ear lobe, then a roll between Casey’s teeth forced a gasp from the kid. “H-hold on. Not that.” Tipping his head to the side, Chuck offered Casey further access to the tender skin of his neck. “You can keep doing … that … right there. I meant the sneaking up thing.”

Somehow, Casey pressed in even closer, his breath caressing bare skin at his nape. “Testing you, Bartowski,” he said, and clenching into the t-shirt’s fabric at Chuck’s shoulder, he tugged, revealing a path of pale flesh to his upper arm. “All part of the training.” 

“That’s not funny.”

“And I’m not laughing.” His fingers slid along the smoothly lean sinew to the bend of his exposed shoulder, lips coursing after to nip at the skin. Lick him where he felt like it. “We have to work on your instincts.” 

“Casey ….” Chuck inhaled sharply, an appreciative response to the touches, sending a delicious shudder through him. As close as two bodies can be, Chuck’s ass was pressed to his hips, Casey’s cock a tight bulge under his jeans, straining against one of his butt cheeks. It wasn’t helping. Standing there like this, contemplating what he was willing to do before the call – so hot and wrong – it was nearly making his ears buzz. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” Strong, firm fingers of his other hand slid down to the hem of Chuck’s t-shirt, and lifting, they moved up under to his waist, thumb stroking the bare skin at his belly. 

Chuck cleared his throat. “My instincts … are telling me either you really like lasagna, or you’re carrying concealed right now.”

Trailing around to the front, Casey’s arm circled him and pulled his waist in, a possessive touch that could just barely keep him from squirming. He wouldn’t do it, though. That maneuver did not make him want to lean back, rub the front of his jeans. 

Like that.

“Yeah ….” A single word whispered on his neck, and Chuck closed his eyes. “Don’t plan on keeping it concealed in the next two minutes, sport.” 

Chuck’s mouth fell open. “Slow down there, big guy. No matter how much it pains me, I want to finish this so I don’t have to hear about the mess I left. Please?” Reaching down, Chuck placed a hand to Casey’s arm and delicately removed the fingers that were twiddling with the button of his jeans. One … by … one.

Only to have Casey snatch his hand away and hook his thumb under the waistband, directly above the zipper. “Nuh-uh. Leave it.”

“A little demanding tonight, big guy. Just sayin’.” Chuck shrugged. “How about this. The dinner. My lasagna? Before … well, things happen, I have to ask. Did you … really like it?”

“Passable, kid.” Casey grinned against his ear, placed a soft kiss there. “Second best thing I ate tonight,” he added under his breath, one hand tangling into his brown hair deeply.

“Sec –? I … oh.” The kid’s blush went viral. 

“Good boy. You got that one without me having to explain it.” Lowering his head, Casey gave him a hungry little lick in the hollow of his neck. “Want you naked,” he said, bit his throat gently with a growl. “All the way. Now.”

“What? Whoa.” Chuck spun his head around to blink at him, fumbling with the sponge. “Uh, rein it in a little, my trusty stallion.” He raised a sarcastic eyebrow, proud of himself for getting that one in after the Derby Incident. “I … I told you I was going to clean up everything – geez, watch the hands – so, can you just wait a few minutes? The roasting pan is the last one.” 

“Bartowski?” 

Maybe it was the shift in his voice. Maybe it was the fact that Casey’s hands fell to his own hips, and worse yet, the warm lips buried in his hair vanished. Either way, something inside Chuck’s head told him his boyfriend’s miniscule amount of innate patience had been stretched – and he was about to hear a snap. Or be snapped. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Question for you,” Casey said evenly. Chuck told himself he was overreacting, but, yes, he heard extreme annoyance from his voice. “You happen to remember, sunshine, your mode of transportation up the stairs the last time we went down this road?”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to forget, um, –” Being manhandled by those hands of his? … taken in a demonstration of animal lust…. 

Wait, did I just think that? 

“Earth to nerd.” 

“Hmm?” Chuck stiffened, trying to focus on the sudsy pan. “I … I was saying, it’s tough to forget something that uncomfortable, so yes, I think I recall what hap –”

“Five seconds.” 

“What?” When the kid heard that, he turned to face him, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Are you –”

“Four.” He knew that look. The tilt of Casey’s head, just slightly, arms taut at his side in that way he had when he zeroed in on a target. And since it was between Chuck and the roasting pan, the kid didn’t need to take his analytical aptitude to the limits to sort this one out.

“Are you … timing me now?” As he wiped his hands on a dish towel, Chuck gave him a nervous smile. “Just because I did that at the dinner table, now you think you need to –”

“Three.” 

Uh-oh. The jittery look had put a sparkle in the blue of his eyes. 

“Seriously?” Though the larger man had taken half a step back, Chuck was still trapped by his body. His wide dark eyes, holding some trepidation, snapped up to Casey’s. They both knew he had nowhere to go, and maybe nowhere else he wanted to be. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Chuck pointed out, “or if you’re upset that the plans to defile our dinner table had to get put on hold when the General –”

“Two.” Casey held up his hand to count off the remaining seconds with his fingers, just in case this was too much math for him. Apparently, his dick was taking over the strategic direction of the op.

And he gets a little crazy when his cock is that hard. 

Jesus. 

“Uh, you can put your hand down, too. I get it.” After Casey left his countdown fingers not only up, but in his face, Chuck folded his arms over his chest, knowing darn well it was a weak defense mechanism if Casey decided to haul him over his shoulder for the second time in two hours. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “I know … okay, let’s just say it, you can be a bit of a control freak, but are you implying that if I don’t listen to you – let you charm my pants off, so to speak, you’re really going to –?”

“And one –”

Eyes flaring even wider, the kid stared back at him, daring him to do it. “Casey, I – this isn’t the way –”

Oh, hell. You know you want to.

So Chuck kissed him. Hard.

Need, want, lust, love, it was all there in an unearthly tangle of limbs and flesh. With a hand splayed over his broad chest, Chuck pushed, a move meant to steer him towards the living room. Then the stairs. 

It didn’t take a superspy to grasp the meaning behind the push. Casey caught on quickly, gripping the kid’s biceps and tugging him forward. It was clumsy and gawky and maybe perfect to kiss this way, with feet shuffling, bumping into the arm of the sofa on the way, caught in a blind, blistering path to the steps. 

When he felt himself hauled forward to keep the contact, a wet rough press of his mouth, Chuck was thankful that Casey would be the one walking up the steps backwards without having to break the kiss.

He never did. 

Stumbling a little, Chuck let himself get pulled up the stairs, relishing the deep tremble in his gut as one of Casey’s hands slid around him and down, only to tease the tight crease of his ass through his jeans. With hot breath across his cheek, the hand on his ass, sensations overwhelmed him. A carnal torment sent from Hell. Had to be. 

“… Ca-sey, c’mon.” Unthinking, the kid curled his fingers into fists on Casey’s collar, grabbing tighter. A shove with his other hand, and he went up and under the polo shirt, warming the damp skin across his abs, then a stroke lower.

Damn.

They’re burning up by the time they reach the top of the stairs. 

-x-

Granted, the first time he felt it, the whole thing was confusing. 

More than that. It was enough to rattle him a bit. 

Well. Honestly? Maybe it was slightly terrifying.

Chuck, who towered over a good portion of the population, was not a small person, topping out at almost six-foot-four and one hundred eighty pounds. Okay, Ellie thought he was too skinny, but he was the second biggest guy at the Buy More. Not some delicate waif of a flower.

So the fact that Casey could immobilize his legs by thrusting one of his own between them, holding the hard pressure of his thigh – hell, his entire body – against the door still managed to take the kid off guard. No one could be that strong, could they? 

It was as if Casey knew that Chuck was solid enough to do this, that he’ll push back some. The slam against the surface nearly knocked the wind out of him, which would’ve pissed him off if not for Casey’s hand clamping down on his wrist, holding it against his chest. 

No. His heart. His fucking heart. By the time he felt it, when he should be riding on anger for being pinned to a door, Chuck found his hands squeezed into tight fists, clamped just as hard and desperately into the front of his shirt. Holding him just as tightly, because nothing about this was sweet or sugary, only heat rolling into the room, unleashed power pressed into him. 

Casey shifted his thigh, giving Chuck a sense of the needy ache in his groin. “Yeah, I know you feel that, kid.” Feel it? Did he really not know that his boyfriend is a hard on with legs? 

As if yanking a chain to see if he’d follow, Casey stilled, save for the hand on his hip, clinching; release. A grazing of warm fingers over his waist. It was a waiting game – a simple play to see if he would mirror the movement, grind his hips back and forth against Casey’s muscular thigh. You want that, kid? Come and get it. 

So, of course, he had to do it. Right there at the hip bone, an excruciating drag of cloth, where his cock could get friction. Damn. Casey set just the right rhythm after that, slowly, steadily brushing side-to-side over an area that would soon feel cruelly chafed if they didn’t lose the damn pants soon. 

“You’re shaking, tiger,” Casey murmured. “Cool it, eh, or this will be over too soon.” Before Chuck could curse at him for that – because, fuck, we’re presumptuous, aren’t we? – Casey leaned in, fitted his mouth over his. Holding his jaw, the agent indulged in a deep swim of a kiss, the end of the pool where there was no bottom, no control, only a sense of floating and helplessness. His tongue invaded, swept in, fucked his mouth, slow and savoring him. 

Opening beneath him, Chuck felt a shiver traverse his spine, starting low, pulling him in. He groaned into his mouth, and Casey answered with a quiet growl of pleasure.

“Feel that?” Casey said, lips still touching his. “You want that to be my fingers … my cock, in your mouth? Yeah ….You want to ask for it?” His lips trailed up to his temple, brushed messy curls. “Make those little sounds, begging?”

“Begging …? You son of a bit – hey, what are you –”

“God, don’t make me explain it to you.” The next jolt was a finger hooked around the belt loop closest to the zipper. Then a demanding tug. “Jesus … clothes off.” Steel and heat pressing in, Casey rocked forward and bit down on Chuck’s collarbone, leaving a tiny red imprint. Just to make sure the message was clear. 

There was a moment of difficulty in catching a breath, what with his legs starting to give out a little, and his fingers reaching up Casey’s shirt to cover as much flesh as possible on the way over his stomach. Up his side, over the slope of his chest, Chuck skimmed under the polo until he got to broad shoulders. He went at it with fumbling enthusiasm, because begging, fuck you, but clothes off, he could do.

– Until a firm squeeze to his wrist stopped him, particularly as Casey backed him up, using his extra forty pounds of muscle he had on him to bore him hard into the door. Instinct made him push his handler backwards, just slightly away, only to get some breathing room. “Dammit, Casey.” Chuck managed to tear his mouth away with a gasp, raising his head to give him a questioning look. “I thought you wanted – didn’t you just say –”

“Need you naked, Bartowski, not me,” Casey breathed, pressing his lips to dark curls at his ear. Then across his cheek bone, nuzzling his throat. “Now.” 

Chuck had to withhold a scowl. Him naked? Like many outtakes from Casey’s playbook, getting naked sounded distinctly like an edict. Which seemed like a good idea, but at the same time unfair. Didn’t Casey know that damn black polo was taunting him by now? 

“I hate to quibble here, but I thought we should first discuss terms before we – ah.”

“Play strip the nerd?” Casey said, putting a hand on the side of his neck, threading fingers through his hair over his nape. “Yeah … that’s right. 

Chuck blinked. “Wait. I thought that –”

“Something about strip and nerd confusing, Bartowski?”

Hearing ‘nerd’ without reverence, Chuck made no attempt whatsoever to hide his scowl this time. “Wow. Either you’re going to have polish up your seduction skills, or lay off the lasagna, hmm?”

Casey’s eyes strolled down his body, then deliberately back up, and he was wearing that shit-eating grin by the time he was done. “Lay off, kid?” With a move of dark intent, he positioned a hand over the front of Chuck’s jeans, just pressing lightly against it. As if the presence of his erection wasn’t screamingly obvious, he slid his fingers downward, squeezed in at the nut sack. “Because this is telling me my skills are on target, eh, ace?”

Again, he did it. One lighter squeeze, and Chuck closed his eyes, tipping his head towards the ceiling. “And you wonder why I tell you I hate you sometimes?” he said under his breath, batting Casey’s hand away from the vicinity of his hard on. “Just remember this scenario, okay?”

A soft laugh came with a kiss out of nowhere, one meant to take away the scowl. “C’mon, kid. You want this, right?” Casey’s words were a gruff entreaty, the kind of plea that came with a hand up his shirt, softly stroking, circling one of his nipples. 

“Jesus … Casey.” Chuck huffed to cover up a soft moan, just as Casey’s thumb swished over the tiny nub. “Do … that. Do it again.” Okay, that was somewhat humiliating and covered up nothing, but he liked it too much not to tell him. 

“Yeah?” Casey pressed a smile against the bare skin under his ear, acquiescing with a few more smooth swishes across his nipple. “You’re warm, kid,” he said. “Feel that?” Another swish with his thumb. “You’re burning up. Shirt has to go.”

That last command did it for him. Chuck opened his eyes and drew in a breath. “That was the idea all along, you know. Where my plan was working? Right up until the time you – careful. Hey. I like this shirt – it’s one of my –” 

He broke it off there, since Casey had grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and began to pull it over his head. “Don’t give a shit if you think this color looks good on you, Bartowski. Off.”

“Ah! Watch the ears, too. They’re attached and everything –”

“Lift your arms, then.” 

Chuck had them in the air before Casey spit out another word. “I – I was saying this was my plan – until you had to take a call from your boss. On a side note, have you noticed that woman’s inherent, and might I add horrible, timing? It makes me wonder if she has tiny surveillance cameras in our house, with sensors that monitor physical –”

“No bugs,” Casey cut in, ending the chatter with a lick, soft bite on his exposed nipple. “Lose the pants.”

“I hate to point out the obvious here, but if we’re playing fair, you need to let me take this.” Chuck reached past Casey’s hand, now sliding down his ribcage to fondle his flat belly, and tugged at the hem of the black polo. He managed to get it past his waist before Casey wrapped his other hand around his wrist, giving it a gentle push. 

“You know by now, kid, I never play fair.” Then Casey pulled away and tossed Chuck’s shirt on the bed, and now that his boyfriend had moved, Chuck let his eyes adjust to the dark, focusing on him for a minute. The only light came from the courtyard, straying like long fingers through their blinds, painting the room in a gauzy veil spliced with a glow. Enough to take in the sights – his rounded ass in those worn jeans, every perfect inch of his legs, dimness blanketing one side of his face. The way his cheeks sloped, the line of his jaw. Those eyes. 

He knew it should be this way. Darkened and shadowed, hiding self-consciousness and cravings. The light barely illuminated to the corners of the room, the bed, and nothing beyond that was needed. 

So it’s confounding when Casey walked to the nightstand and flicked on the bedside lamp, the golden cast spotlighting the neatly made bed. The kid, feeling inexplicably nervous, stood bare chested next to the door, his leaner muscles and pale skin, his fine layer of dark chest hair in full view. 

“I always thought light makes it feel like a party.” Chuck laughed uneasily, cringing at how stupid that sounded. To fix his gaffe, he went on with, “Oh, except the getting naked aspect. I usually don’t participate in parties where – now, Jeff? He’s been to a –”

“Christ, it’s just a lamp, hot shot.” Watching his face closely, Casey folded his arms over his chest, half smiling. “Look at me,” he said, his voice dark, low. “Let’s see those baby browns when you strip for me.”

Well, that explained the lamp, at least. He wants to watch. See everything from the surface inward, see what it does to him. Embarrassment, like a ruddy rash of stinging nettles, climbed up his neck to his cheeks. It was a blush he hated, one that Casey once called kinda cute, late at night after their hearts slowed down. 

Open his eyes and strip. It’s not like it’s the first time. It’s not like there were secrets between them anymore. Casey’s hands have been there, he’s twisted and curled his fingers, hell, his tongue, inside of him, washing ice and fire through his limbs. 

Chuck breathed out, caught in the look of pure determination interlaced with a sensual resolve. He knew that look. In five months, Chuck had catalogued Casey’s various squints into a barometer of behavior. The Major’s plan of attack. And this one said that if he shed the pants, he was on the cusp of amazing sex, urgent, hard and rough in a way that filled him, his body, and every corner of his mind. 

His hand was on the zipper before the thought had squeezed out of his consciousness. 

“Um, I’m usually faster at this if there’s no stopwatch involved.” Being barefoot and shirtless made him feel slightly exposed, but dammit, he was going to do this. “You’re not timing me?” he joked lamely. 

“Left that in my other pants,” Casey replied, chuckling.

“Hah. Lucky me.” Chuck made a face at him, managing to find some gracefulness under the scrutiny. He kept his eyes open, locked on Casey, while he shoved off his jeans and boxers. Freed from his pants, his cock bobbed out, curved and hard, and that was no secret either. 

Smiling slyly, Casey made a soft growl in his throat. “Yeah? Lucky me.”

The smile, the raw exposure, it invoked a shudder. On the tail end of it, the kid found a dose of crazy-ass bravery. Just enough to push him further. 

“Is this what you wanted, Casey?” Chuck held his arms to his sides, fists clenched, doing anything to stifle the automatic reaction to cover himself. “Getting me naked? You’ve been thinking about it, too, haven’t you?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking ....” Casey’s lips shifted into a dangerous smile. “You feeling easy tonight, Bartowski? A little reckless, maybe?” he rumbled, the suggestion velvet and dark. “Why don’t you come over here?”

Idiot. Why was it a good idea to provoke him with a little bit of dirty banter? Of course, John Casey accepted the challenge. Does he always have to be the gangly, awkward kid, dealing with a man who is one step ahead of him in everything? 

Hell, no.

The kid raised his chin and straightened to his full height. “Shirt,” he said, keeping his feet planted.

Casey’s blue eyes narrowed. “What?” 

“Your shirt?” A nod at his boyfriend’s chest was meant to solidify his intention. When Casey only looked at him with a brief flitter of confusion, Chuck swallowed hard and told him, “Take it off.” 

-x-End Way Back Chapter Eighteen-x-


	25. Chapter Nineteen

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Nineteen)

-x-

Casey stared, looking like he was two seconds away from making him come over here in the not-so-pleasant manner. Like he’s unloading a chamber, Chuck could see him systematically discharging thoughts, determining his next move.

Luckily, Casey picked the right one. 

“The shirt?” he echoed, smirking. “Yeah … okay.” Without fanfare, the agent shrugged his polo over his broad chest, wide shoulders, and tossed it to the bed next to Chuck’s. His fingers worked on his watch band next, setting it on the nightstand. Throughout the entire impromptu strip-tease, the two of them never broke eye contact until Casey was bare from the waist up.

“Happy now, kid?” He tilted his head at Chuck. “So, now what? Are you just going to stand there?” And stare like a fucking moron?

Chuck frowned. That was so not fair. All right, maybe he spent a little more time at the gym, but really, God? The man is a victorious warrior, all ropes and bulges of hard muscle and power. The light curls sprinkled over his chest and trailing down only seemed to further define his pecs … 

… and other interesting areas where the path of springy hair led to his belly button, down to the zipper of his jeans before disappearing under the waistband.

Dammit. His shirt? Why didn’t he say strip? 

Standing there, tall and naked and admittedly feeling a spurt of modestly, Chuck brought his gaze up to that cocky look of his. A moment passed while the kid fought his bashfulness, but bolstering himself, he squared his shoulders and strolled into Casey’s space, so closely that his dick brushed up against the front of his pants. 

“Okay, I’m here,” Chuck said, appraising him openly. Jesus. The electric charge in the air was dizzying, a crackle hotter than the day spent in the sun. He brought up a palm and started stroking the bare skin over the button on his jeans. “Is that what you wanted?” 

Get the message, Major? 

“Partly,” Casey replied, glancing down at Chuck’s hand on his jeans.

“I guess this begs the question, then.” Chuck paused to stroke again over the humid flesh at his belly. “Have you … figured out what you’re going to do with me? What … what do you want?”

Casey leaned in closer until Chuck’s hand was nearly trapped between their bodies, his lips held firmly together as if suppressing a smile. “You were the one who got my dick hard, nerd. Now I want to see what you’ll do for it.”

He made it sound like an invitation. Clinging to his last smidgen of cool, Chuck bent forward, sinking his teeth lightly into Casey’s bottom lip and tugging away. “This, Casey? Teasing you with my mouth? Is that what you want?” 

Holy hell-o. How many glasses of Ellie’s Cabernet did he have tonight, anyway? Whatever the tally, note to self: it was probably a few over the limit, because what kind of insanity was he sipping to tease Casey like that, feeding him dirty words and insinuations, when the man hasn’t had sex in weeks? 

“That’s where I thought you were headed, kid,” Casey rumbled. 

Despite a case of butterflies, Chuck desperately wanted the taste of that mouth against his one more time. He curled a finger under the button of Casey’s jeans, and then spoke against his lips. “C’mon, the bed. Aren’t you going to –?” 

When Casey’s fevered eyes drifted shut at this, the kid lowered his head and gave him a hungry little lick in the hollow of his neck. You want it. I’m offering it.

Take it.

Casey gripped his hips, holding him close, returning the kiss with deep probes of his tongue, exploring the inside of his mouth. It was a slow and passionate whirlpool of a kiss, pulling him in with teasing glides, the kind of kiss that made Chuck press his cock in a little tighter to the front those damn jeans.

A moment later, Casey’s fingers clamped into his flesh to steer him, forcing Chuck to start shuffling forward if he wanted to keep contact on Casey’s lips. Which he did. And being in the somewhat difficult position of walking and kissing while trying to rub up against him, it took a second for the kid to realize they were moving away from the bed. As in, not towards the bed.

What the hell?

“C-Casey – mmm, no, stop that – I’ll admit, you’re … confusing me,” Chuck got out between ragged breaths, ignoring the disturbance of his heart pounding through his chest. “I distinctly said bed, and now –”

“We’re going this way,” Casey cut in, growling into his mouth. “See, kid, how easy it is when you only need to worry about following my instructions?”

“Your instructions?” Not daring to look, Chuck succumbed to being the follower, their lips finding each other’s again. “I thought we were going to stick to my plan for a while.”

Casey tugged, warning him that if he didn’t keep walking, he’d get some help. “Your plan still sucks, Bartowski.” With the emphasis on sucks.

He slammed his lips down on the kid’s before the protest could find a way out. Chuck felt a jolt at the forceful aggressiveness, and after a beat to recover, gave it right back. That pleased his boyfriend, he figured, when he felt a moan against his mouth, and goaded on, Casey’s palm slipped past the kid’s waist, closing his hand around him and jerking him off. Slow, not enough to do it for him. Just enough to make sure he was paying goddamn attention. 

By the time his thumb swept over the pre-come on the tip, brushing over it a few times to spread it on the crown, attention was a moot point. “Casey, I hate to – ah – bring up the obvious again, but this would be a real good time to –”

“Stay.”

“Stay? As in here? Like this?” Wait. Where was here?

Another swish, and Chuck closed his eyes, taking his hips forward on instinct, thrusting into his hand. “I mean, here, kid,” Casey replied, giving a tentative kiss, a small suck to his jawline. 

Here was the first place Casey had led him, that night Chuck had followed the agent home, shadowing his woodsy scent and unspoken promise of sublime gratification. The night he gave himself to a pair of hands usually meant for bloodier deeds. Casey had led him up to his bedroom, but he didn’t take him to bed at first. He stood there, at that dresser of his, the mirror behind them, and waited for Chuck to ask. Wanted to hear him say it, that he was willing to be taken to his bed, to be taken by him.

Now Casey stood wide-legged, leaning back on the dresser, and he towed the kid into the perfect position between his thighs. Here meant taking Chuck back in his hand, pumping lightly, letting one finger slide lower, circle around his asshole as if testing the slippery cool waters. 

“I might be … convinced.” Seeking the friction, Chuck pushed more insistently against him. “We’ll play it your way,” he said, gasping against his lips when Casey looped again. “For now.”

“Good thinking, kid,” Casey agreed. He settled back with Chuck standing naked between his legs, but instead of picking up with the pump action, or reaching down to give his zipper a steady drag, or letting Chuck help out with that, he pulled away. God. Was this a form of spy torture? A test of endurance? 

“What is it?” Chuck asked, hoping that didn’t sound whiney. “Why … did you –”

“Shit.” Casey inclined his head to the side and shifting a little, slid a hand behind his back. “Something’s digging here.”

“Here? I got that part, Casey,” Chuck faltered, willing his hand to stay at his side, or he may begin rubbing himself. “That’s … kind of the point, isn’t it?”

Casey chuckled and slid his grip up the velvet shaft and back down, thumb playing along the crown. “Not that,” he told him, his hand dropping. “Something back here is digging into my ass.” He shifted again, pulled the offending object into view, and held it up between them.

Oh, hell. Not that. 

The blue and white bandana, crinkled up in a ball and still damp from the Shower Incident. Apparently, Casey had tossed it on the dresser when he was changing into dry clothes. Great. Like he needed a reminder of being tied to a towel bar? 

“Heh. Want me to save this, tiger?” The bandana was proffered in his direction as Casey gave the evidence of Chuck’s surrender a little wave. “Didn’t hear any complaints.” A smoky tease in his tone rolled through the kid when he added, “I could use it again.”

Chuck shook his head and tried to grab it, but Casey was too quick with the fist. “No, thank you.” He gave Casey the stink eye in case the message didn’t penetrate. 

“Your loss,” Casey said, whirling it on his finger.

“Wait a minute.” His dark brown eyes became sharp and direct, his lanky body shifting into a ‘Nerd with a Plan’ posture, not backing down. “I could use it, so hand it over. Please.”

“You.” Casey said it skeptically, but hey, he was shirtless with his thighs clamped around Chuck’s legs when he said it, which helped to burn off the cynicism. 

“Yes, me.” Putting on his best sly grin – okay, it was more goofy and crooked than anything – Chuck held out his hand. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Y-yeah.” Why does his voice have to pick now to crack like that?

A gentle stroking started in his hair, a thumb passing along his temple. With a smile that reminded Chuck more of a devious curl of lips, Casey winked at him. “Close your eyes and I’ll give it to you.”

The wink could not be trusted, that he knew. But when Casey lowered his hand, pumped his fist root to tip, a slow dragging stroke, Chuck sucked in a breath and obeyed. “Geez, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” the kid said, reflexively rubbing, bare skin to his cock. “Casey.”

“Kill you? I’d have to fuck you first, eh, kid?” His hand cupped Chuck’s balls, and he kissed, not down as Chuck would’ve preferred, but along his shoulder, teasing the muscle there. “Wouldn’t want you to have to pass through the pearly gates and spend eternity with your dick hard enough to carve stone.” 

“That’s …. How could you even say –”

“Close them, Bartowski.” 

“Fiiine. I’ve got them – oh.” He felt a whisper of a kiss to hold him there, and as Casey coaxed his lips opened, his tongue seduced with pressure, there was a movement at his side, traveling up to his shoulders. Then fingers in his hair. 

“Relax, cupcake,” Casey said against his mouth. “I got this.”

“What? Wait … I thought you said – what are you – hey. Hey! I said stop that. Are you serious? Damn it, Casey, I am not going to –”

“You said you wanted to use it, kid.” Casey moved his mouth to his throat, the sweet hollow of his collarbone, and traced the vulnerable spot with his tongue. Was that supposed to distract him from his boyfriend’s hands, busy tying the bandana?

“Casey, you are not –”

“So, now you’re using it. See how that works?”

“Not as a blindfold! On me!” Struggling was useless. If it wasn’t the fingers now clamped around his wrists, it was the magnetic force of lips along his cheek, making a pleasant scuffing sound against his stubble. 

Let me, it said. 

Chuck took a calming breath. “Why do you never listen?”

“Explain to me, then. What part of this is not ‘using it’?” 

Chuck blinked against the blindfold. “Tell me the truth. You … you were labeled a ‘difficult’ child, weren’t you? Ow! Stop that. I can’t see where you’re – oh. Oh. That’s … better. Jesus, Casey.”

“You like this? Tell me,” Casey breathed to his ear. One of his hands let the kid’s wrist slide free, went lower, making slow whorls just above his cock, an arc dipping down to trace along his length. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” God, yes. Chuck bit down on the tip of his tongue, not caring that Casey was most likely staring at his face, examining the fallout of his touch. “You know, Casey,” he said when a thought struck him, “I hate to be the one to bring this up, but this reminds me of –”

“Don’t say it.”

“But, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“What? This?” Something smooth brushed over the tip of his cock. Lips? The pad of his thumb? Didn’t matter. If felt fucking incredible. 

Chuck closed his eyes under the fabric, breathed out a rasp of air that was not coated in sticky frustration. “Not … not that. You can keep doing that.” Please for the love of God and all that is holy, keep doing that. “I meant the blindfold.”

The thumb – hey, it didn’t take a blind genius to deduce that – skimming the rim of the crown stilled. “Fuck. Knew you’d have to point it out.”

“Someone has to be the voice of reason, Casey.” And it was killing Chuck right now that it would have to be him. “The last time … you did this? Tried to blindfold me?” 

“You mean the one and only other time?” There was a groan and a curse. With his angular naked limbs resting in the perfect curve of his body, now was not the time to bring it up. 

But here goes. “Yes. And what happened? Remind me, please.”

“Shit. You mean, when you decided that being blind and uncoordinated as a turtle trying to jack itself would be a good time to take a hike?”

“A hike? To the bed! How was I supposed to know that the –”

“Corner of my night table was the perfect place to whack your knee? Slice a hole in it the size of a golf ball?”

Chuck winced under the bandana – the smack had hurt like hell. Brooding over the fact that it happened when he had let go of Casey, the kid reached out, swatted air, and finally got a nice meaty bicep for his efforts. “Uh, at least we had the blindfold handy to … staunch the bleeding?”

Even sightless, he knew Casey had brought up his hands to scrub them over his face. “If you think for one minute that you’re going to convince me to look at the bright side of that, sunshine, you can blow that happy shit up someone else’s butt pipe.” A large hand curled over his waist, stayed put. “I had to carry your ass over to your sister’s –”

“At least she wasn’t home! See? I could’ve been worse. It was Devon who cleaned it and got the butterfly bandage on there, and he had no idea how it actually –”

“You were wearing boxers, had a hard on, and a blindfold around your knee cap, princess. What part of the ‘one plus one’ equation do you think Doctor Ken Doll didn’t catch?” 

“A … what? I did not!”

“Yeah. Right.” In spite of the annoyance in his tone, Casey’s hand took a path up his chest to his shoulder, tucking a few strands of unruly brown hair behind his ear. “And kid? One more thing.”

“I should still be pissed about this, but go ahead.”

“If you keep talking about that night, you’re gonna make my dick soft.” From nowhere, Chuck felt his palm plucked off of Casey’s upper arm, dragged down, and placed firmly on the front of his jeans. His fingers responded by cupping him without thinking. Christ. Impressive. “That what you want?” Casey asked.

Chuck’s eyebrows went up behind the blindfold. “Let’s … let’s change the topic, then, shall we?”

“Smart boy,” Casey breathed, and the kid felt a kiss on his chin. Soft, not anything like the man himself. But when Chuck bowed his head to catch the kiss, the lips were gone.

“What are you doing?” Though he knew. It was obvious because he could feel blue eyes piercing into him. Chuck reached for the blindfold, hooked a finger under the cloth to lift it. “I want to … see you.” 

That was when strong fingers curled around his hand, drawing it back down, Casey’s thumb sliding back and forth over the sensitive inner wrist. “No.” A caress, but he also recognized it as what it was, a possessive gesture. “Leave it for now.”

The kid tugged back, just once, and let Casey lower his hand to his side. “Maybe I should reword that … why are you doing this?”

“The first time, it was meant for fun.”

“Fun? Wow. See, that’s where you and I aren’t on the same page.” Chuck tried to twist out of his hold and back up a step. “My idea of fun involves things that are more – oh.” 

Or that. 

Because his boyfriend wrapped an arm around his waist and repositioned him between his legs, tighter than before. Then deliberately, Casey shifted his hips some, so that the aching curve of Chuck’s cock could brush against him. “Have somewhere to go, Bartowski?”

“I … know what you’re doing.”

“Wanna explain it to me?” Casey asked. He clasped Chuck’s ass cheek and pulled him against his pants, giving him another nice swish back and forth. “Like that?”

“It’s just that I was hoping to, uh … yeah, that’s ….” So maybe the kid was still peeved about the blindfold, but his dick was telling him to shut the hell up and just go with the current mission specs. “Let’s make an agreement right now: for the rest of the night, I’m striking the word ‘fun’ from your vocabulary. Deal?” 

Casey grunted, sweeping one hand to the kid’s lower back, his front giving one more swish of his jeans. “No deal,” he said.

“God, feels so ….” His body had drawn taut, anticipating the touch. “Okay. Just explain it to me. Why are you doing this?”

“Training.”

“Train –? Are you smiling?” Chuck brought up a hand to touch his lips, only to have it batted away. “Hey … watch that. What do you mean? Training?”

“Then keep your damn hands down,” Casey said, passing his knuckles along his stomach. “Spy training, Bartowski.”

“Please be serious,” Chuck said, blinking into the void, trying to pull back. “You can’t do that. Springing improvised tests when I haven’t studied?”

“Spies rely on their other senses, kid. Like this.” 

“Like wha – ah.” Chuck jumped when a heavy palm trailed up his ribcage, over bare prickled flesh, until Casey’s knuckles grazed over a nipple. Side to side, rubbing the tiny nub until he drew a quiet moan from Chuck, impossible to stifle. Not when Casey played with such a weak spot. 

Dammit. Felt so good ….

“Touch is one,” Casey said, keeping his voice low. “Taste is another….” The knuckles were gone, replaced by a pair of warm lips coursing over his chest, leaving a tiny nibble, a lick. 

Behind the cloth, his lashes fluttered, then hazel eyes drifted closed. Holy Christ. Was he really trying to kill him? “Uh, t-taste?”

“Yeah, good. You got it,” Casey answered, dropping his hand to Chuck’s lower belly, tracing another tight circle. Going rounder and wider, lower. “Let’s work on that one.”

Somehow, Chuck forgot his dick for a minute and considered the world of spy-training. “I don’t … I think …. That’s not subtle, Casey.”

“I don’t know, kid.” Casey gripped his ass to bring him even closer, his breath hot on a flushed cheek. “Something tells me it was too elusive even for the Intersect.” 

The stimulus practically forced Chuck to arch further, harder against him, his fingers fisting on Casey’s hips. Warm damp skin pressed to his stomach, aligning their bodies perfectly. It was almost impossible to think when he was this close, or while a pair of hands slid over his waist, massaged his ass. Chuck swallowed hard. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Because you’re still up here. Eye to eye with me?”

“Eye to – wait a second here.” It took all his willpower not to yank off the blindfold and look at him right then. But contemplating it, Chuck instead brought his fingers to Casey’s lips, wanting to feel that smile of his. “Are you laughing? Since it should be obvious that one of us isn’t eye to eye at all, while the other, no doubt finds this amusing to – ow! Fu – Did you bite my finger?”

Casey grunted. “You should know better kid,” he answered, and Chuck felt the same abused pointer finger now getting a wet lick. “Anything that gets that close to my mouth is gonna have to take its chances.”

“Really.” Since he couldn’t glare at him, the kid bared his teeth in a fake smile. “Wish I’d known that before,” he shot back. Collecting his finger, the kid sucked in a breath as a hand ran behind his neck, into his hair, fingers threading between messy locks. The language of his boyfriend. Who else in the world would blindfold him, tease him, and give him a massage? 

Oh, that’s … damn good, too.

“Yeah? What could you have done?” Being tied to a towel bar?

He was still a shit head for that.

“Point, Major. But … I would’ve been more cautious when said orifice was in close proximity to attachments I’ve grown rather fond of.”

Just when he didn’t know what his boyfriend would do next, Chuck felt his lips brushing against his temple. “Luckily for you, kid, I’m quite fond of some of them myself.”

“Well, that’s a relief, smartass.” The use of the pet name elicited one of Casey’s low laughs. Chuck brought his hand up, digging his fingers in lightly before taking the warm path to Casey’s shoulder, across his collarbone to his chin. When he felt Casey’s lips, he grazed them with his thumb. “Hmm. No bites this time. That’s also a relief. Good boy,” Chuck added, feeling brazen.

“Watch it, kid.” Just a nip that time.

He brushed Casey’s lips again, this time with his own. Maybe he was the naked, blindfolded dummy right now, but Chuck Bartowski knew what buttons to push. “Still,” he said, “I prefer the nerd method to the whole foreign objects within range scenario.” 

“This I can’t wait to hear.” Meaning, shut the fuck up before I do it for you.

“It’s simple, really,” the kid answered, smiling. With their bodies pressed together this close, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where Casey’s hand was resting. Chuck grabbed his wrist and lifted it to his own face. God, he wanted to see this, but he would only have to imagine the blue eyes narrowing, perhaps suspiciously, locked on to his mouth to watch every movement. 

“What’re doing, kid?”

“This.” A little gingerly, Chuck peeled away two of Casey’s fingers from the others. “Nerds prefer the more stealthy approach.” 

“Did you just use the words nerd and stealthy in the same breath, Bartowski?” Casey asked, not pulling his hand away. He sounded … interested to see where this was going.

“Yep. The nerd way is more like this.” It took only a second or two. His first easy suck on his fingers, drawing them in between his lips and getting them wet, caused an appreciative deep noise in Casey’s chest. Focusing only on teasing him, not the blindfold or what he looked like, Chuck let his other hand drop below Casey’s waist, to his jeans. When his palm felt the crease of the zipper and the swell underneath, he cupped his fingers, pressed in and encircled him, his thumb stroking the outline of the crown through the fabric. 

Holy crap. Though logically impossible, how the hell is that not puncturing a good ol’ pair of Levis? 

“Jesus.” Casey’s voice sounded scratchy as he extricated the two wet fingers from Chuck’s mouth. “I’ve got another method for you.” 

“Another?”

“That’s right.” One of Casey’s palms slid over Chuck’s shoulder, and he exerted pressure on his neck. Downward pressure. “That’s what you wanna be, huh? A dick tease?” he asked, pressing again. “On your knees, Bartowski.”

“Hey, hold on –” Whoa. Chuck inhaled sharply, not fighting the firm but gentle shove to the floor. Because on your knees was decidedly not a suggestion – and he wasn’t sure he minded. 

That was confusing and needed to be thought about later. Much later. 

“Why don’t you use your imagination?” Casey proposed. “You can … do what you want.” With his fingers sliding into the kid’s thick hair, he used the grip to tilt his head up. The opaque fabric hid everything, the sensual torment, the hunger pressing down on him. Casey’s eyes, sure to be studying his face. “View’s better from there, isn’t it, champ?”  
“Am I going to be able to see my view any time soon?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

“Hah.” Chuck wet his lips, self-conscious of how that would look to his lover, and let his hands travel up Casey’s long upper legs. Even blind, he could find the damn button above the zipper, so grabbing on, he twiddled with it between his fingers, head still tilted up to stare at the back of the blindfold. Imagining how this looked through Casey’s eyes. “You know, I would’ve found my way down here eventually. That was a little pushy.”

“Yeah? Take it up the chain of command,” Casey answered back, stroking his hair in front, pushing a tangle of soft dark curls off his forehead.

“Are you insinuating that you’re the chain of command?” The button came undone with a twist of his fingers. 

“Who’s wearing a blindfold?”

Chuck sat back on his heels while the zipper made a pleasant grating noise on the way down. “Who hasn’t had his dick sucked in five weeks?” Huh. Being blind must’ve given him the illusion of a dusky curtain of protection around him, because where did that come from? 

Over his head, Casey just laughed in that low way of his. His fingers tangled more deeply in his locks, tugging playfully. “Rude, Bartowski. Surprised you’d say that with your sister within a hundred yards of us.”

“Um, let me get this straight: you just mentioned my sister now of all times – and are you saying I’m rude? After that shower stunt you pulled a few hours ago?” 

Casey grunted, and Chuck picked up on the fact he was giving him that one. “Should I be worried you’re flying blind on this one? Think ya can handle it, sport?” 

“I think I can handle taking off pants.” 

This time the chuckle broke the boundary of lewd. “Yeah,” Casey agreed, a thumb flitting over his cheek. “That too.”

If Chuck could see him, he would’ve rolled his eyes. “Aren’t we full of ourselves,” he muttered, then added, “Didn’t you know you were only supposed to go through the line once when they were passing them out?” 

Another gentle stroke passed over his hair, and Chuck didn’t need to see his face to know Casey was trying to smother a grin. “I thought they said ammo. So I asked for two boxes of 38 Long Colt.” 

“Ammo, huh?” Laughing at his humor would only encourage him, so Chuck bit down on his mouth and pretended to be annoyed. Besides, he had other matters to attend to, like getting his fingers on denim and opening the jeans into a V, which Casey let him do without helping. “The word incorrigible does not even being to cover this.” 

“Just … keep going.” The extent of his need, the dangerous power behind it, was in the wide open with those three words.

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut behind the bandana, the harsh exhalation over his head filling his senses. He knew Casey was staring down at him like this. Utterly naked. Blind. With his own hard on making him light-headed, he tried to get his pants down, which was awkward since Casey was resting his ass against the damn dresser. Like getting himself stripped was a spectator sport. The kid pointed his head up. “If you stay like that – I can’t …. You have to move.”

“This is you giving the orders now?” But he did shift his hips and stand, giving the kid access. Casey’s fingers half-curled, caressing the side of his head. “You want ‘em? Take ‘em.”

He wouldn’t have to ask twice. Chuck went by feel as he eased the jeans down over his hips, hooking his thumbs inside the elastic of the boxers to make certain he got them both in one handful. When he managed to get the pants down far enough to release Casey’s cock, he heard a growl of response. 

The fucking good kind of growl.

His broad crown had to be two inches from the end of his nose – or his chin, or … somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth. Chuck stayed still, drawing in a breath with nostrils flared, and he let it out. Let the wild masculine scent, like dark earthy ale in the summer sun, lure his lips open. They slowly parted in willingness, but it was more than that. The kid needed it, needed it like air and water, a natural outlet of the emotional wreckage they had suffered through. Wanted to kiss and taste …

… And just as he was bending forward to leave a lick on his belly, hear that intake of breath, something swept across the angle of his jaw. Firm, warm, but velvety soft. 

“What’re you –” When Chuck turned his head to the right to follow the soft swish, the length of Casey’s dick rubbed along his left cheek, then dragged back and forth over his bottom lip. 

That son of a bitch. Teasing him with his cock, making him work for it? It was a version of a power play, taking the carnal truth or dare to Round II. Would he let him?

Oh, hell no.

Even with lust burning, threatening to incinerate them, Casey could go fuck himself if he thought that that was going to happen. At the next touch, Chuck jerked back abruptly, nearly landing on his ass. “Casey, I … I’m not going to –” 

“Not, Bartowski?” 

“Not … like that, I mean.” 

Sometimes when Casey was like this, post-mission desires flaring and snapping, rolling over him, Chuck let him. Let him push him on the bed, take him without a sound or foreplay, a hard rutting that released the dirt and shit that invaded him post-combat. It was crazy. He could never explain the aftermath. Sated, it left Casey molded against him, holding him in the curves and hard angles of their bodies. At least momentarily protecting each other from harm or pain, letting nothing tear them apart. 

By listening to Casey’s non-verbal cues over the past few months, the kid had picked up on … things that he likes. The way he likes it. But this was seriously not going to happen. Chuck tipped his head up, pointing his eyes in the direction of Casey’s face. “Give me your hands. Now.” 

“Why?” He’s suspicious? What the hell does he have to be suspicious about? He was the one blindfolded, for crying out loud.

“Casey. John.” Chuck reached out and wrapped a hand around his thigh, coasted his fingers down the back of it. “You’ve always asked me to trust you. Now, I’m doing the same. I said give me your hands.” To make his point, the kid held out his other palm, then snapped his fingers. “Do it.” 

“Pushy little sucker tonight, aren’t ya.” But Chuck felt a pair of huge hands brush up against his, then fall into his palm. “There. But I’m gonna want them back later, eh?”

“Only if you’re good boy,” Chuck countered. 

“No promises.” 

“Humph.” With Casey squinting at him, Chuck closed his fingers over his wrists and leaned in, pressing them against the drawer fronts on either side of his hips. Then he squeezed them, using his weight to hold his forearms in place. “Stay.” 

To emphasize why it would be a good idea, Chuck bent his head and licked him, purposely about six inches from the sensitive zone Casey would probably have liked to feel his tongue. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“My way this time,” Chuck said, nosing around the firm smooth indent where his thigh and pelvis met. Springy hair tickled his cheek, his temple; he kept his head down, inhaling the scent of him. “You want me to, don’t you ….?” A lick over abs, and Chuck felt him suck in a lungful of air. Good. “Have you been thinking about it … the entire time you were a big prick? Wanted me to do this?” This was an even tongue stroke, tickling across his stomach. 

“Asshole.” Casey made the comment without rancor, and really, in this position, how could he say otherwise? It was what he wanted.

Smiling against his skin, Chuck found a spot that made Casey growl and his cock pulse along his neck. He seemed to like that, so the kid repeated the lick and sucking. Lips open, drifting over his balls next, breathing on them, careful to keep Casey’s hands locked to his sides. “You’re right … taste … you like it Casey?”

“Oh, you little cock tease.” Reflexes made Casey move his hips, a slow, dragging stroke, rubbing his dick against Chuck’s collarbone. “Christ, you’re trying to kill me,” he said.

Casey could make him do it so easily, really. Pull his hands free from the grip Chuck had on them. Cup the back of his head, twine fingers through his hair, twist them, steer his face –

But he wasn’t doing any of those things. 

After a day that included a showdown with a leaping reptile, not verbalizing but communicating every secret he held, receiving gifts that were torn from his lover’s heart, John Casey didn’t fight it. 

Stretched out tall over him, jeans low on his hips and thighs caught in the trap of his pants, he let his boyfriend tease him. Make him think about getting the best head of his life. The first and only man Chuck had done this for was, after all, one hell of a teacher. And not just within the boundaries of Montebello, when he first held the kid with no fucking excuses or backtalk, when they were just two guys learning to work together, to trust each other.

It was more than that. When Chuck leaned in, he felt Casey’s dick rub up against his ear, the line of his jaw. Just turn your head. It would be right there. “I don’t think that’s where you want to put it, is it, Casey?” The hands under his grip lurched once, fists balling up when Chuck swished his tongue over his hipbone. “I don’t think the ear would be fun for either of us.” 

“Jesus.” Casey made an inarticulate sound in his chest. “Not to mention it would damage Beckman’s Intersect,” he snickered. “Hate to have to explain that one to the bit –”

“Your superior officer?” Casey’s other hipbone needed attention, to Chuck went to that one next.

“Yeah, so … figure it out, kid.”

Should he tell him that sounded exactly like begging? Chuck laid a kiss on his stomach and looked up. “Casey, I was thinking … I may not be good at this with the blindfold.” 

With his hands doubled up around Casey’s wrists, there was no hiding the tightening of muscle under his fingers. Not resistance. Burning frustration, rising fast and dizzying in the calm tidal pool. Casey lifted his hips, jutting them out to catch some friction along his jaw. “Stop thinking, kid,” he replied. And start sucking it.

So he did it. Came in where his senses told him he’d find the thick curve, the broad head. Touched it. Under his tongue, he felt heat and firmness – Jesus, he was hot – and he glossed the tip with just his lips, back and forth, licking the head. Knowing those blue eyes were watching him avidly. “Maybe I … can do it like this …. Blind?”

“Christ.” Long fingers twined through his dark curls, ruffling his hair, even his touch conveying his thick need. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, kid?”

True. He did. Bending in, he teased him with his tongue, licking in a loop around the ridge of the crown. Chuck let go of one wrist just long enough to run his fingers over Casey’s ass, digging into the firm swell of muscles. “Yeah, you taste … good.” He proved the point by kissing the tip of his cock.

“God. Like it when you do this for me.” His voice was somehow darker, more dangerous as he dragged his cock over the kid’s lips. “You kept those virgin lips clean? Haven’t you, kid? Because I’m gonna fuck that clean mouth of yours. Make it dirty for you.” Not daring to speak, Chuck felt a warm prod against his lips. “Want me to fuck your mouth?” 

Beneath the blindfold, the kid squeezed his eyes shut again, a shudder running through him. Okay, damn Casey for that. He knows asking for it, like he just did there? For that, there was no resistance. Chuck had to do it. Let him do it. 

He could only imagine it. Casey’s eyes lingering on him, his cock, watching Chuck take him in his mouth. The way he opened up and drew him in slow, touching soft but tight skin, his tongue molding to the contoured surface. He wanted to do it, to feel it, so he swirled his tongue a couple of times. Just focusing on the movement, the taste, the smooth texture and ridges against his lips.

On reflex, one of his hands loosened his grip on Casey’s wrist and he brought it up to the base of his dick, feeling the steel length of him, his fingers covering what he couldn’t with this mouth. Sliding up, down, forgetting the buzz of the air around them and completely engrossed, to the point of feeling outside of himself. He breathed through his nose, noticing the way Casey’s cock felt, seeming to pulse in reaction, making him tighten his lips. Only this. 

“Jesus … kid, that’s it.” Casey pushed in with his hips, not enough to cause a coughing fit that would break the rhythm, but just enough before he pulled back. “Yeah, you like it, too,” he said, voice scratchy as he splayed his knees as wide as he could with the jeans constraining them. He took over, thrusting in a little harder. “Look at you, sucking dick like you never knew pussy existed. Ah … Fuck …. Keep working it.”

A strong nudge almost lifted him up off his knees. Fortunately, Chuck had felt this before, so he didn’t let the strength behind it take him off his game. Relax into it, keep the rhythm, and oh, yeah – forget about his own hard on. Fingers twisting gently in his curls, Casey stroked his hair with the hand that was now free, murmuring and rocking. 

His boyfriend’s voice hitched with a breath, then a guttural groan over his head. “Little cocksucker ….”

Really, Casey? Who in the hell can make that sound like a term of endearment? But the way it burned the air, the way his fist tightened, Chuck was helpless to fight it. Sucking him steadily, flicking the sensitive underside with the tip of his tongue, and gradually finding his balls with his palm, teasing them. 

It made both of them clench, because Casey’s heat was only half of the equation. Chuck’s entire body hummed with the same restrained ache, a betrayal that he was getting off by hearing the words uttered like a prayer, by the rocking and bucking into his mouth.

“Jesus, that’s … it.” Knowing the control he had over Casey made Chuck respond with a long glide, getting it wet, feeling the intensified slide of hot flesh –

And just like that, a firm shove on his shoulder sent him backwards on his ass. 

“Son of a – oh.” Right. The natural reaction took over. Chuck winced at the hard landing and closed his eyes, before realizing the bandana made that move redundant. Holding his breath, he braced himself for a spurt of warmth over his chest, maybe his cheeks. 

It took him a full half minute to realize that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Casey said. His boyfriend had to be squatting in front of him, Chuck could tell, based upon the hand that slid over his thigh, rubbing side to side. “Sit up.”

“Why did you do that?” he sputtered, feeling a little humiliated since he sat crab-like on the floor, knees quivering. “Because … I thought – shit.”

A firm squeeze on his scrotum almost made him lose his load. Casey closed his palm around his dick, giving him a slow even drag before brushing his thumb under the crown. “Any more of that, kid, and I won’t be able to fuck that tight ass of yours.” 

Chuck blushed full on. “You could’ve warned – mmph.” 

Two things happened at once. Casey latched onto the back of his neck and pulled him in for a firm, open mouth kiss, growling into his mouth. And a warm hand slid down past his balls, teasing his ass, then up to work his cock again.

Oh, God. He couldn’t help it. Without thinking, Chuck lifted his hips off the floor and pushed into the grip, thrusting up to find more friction. 

“You wanna fuck my hand, don’t you?” His breath was warm against his ear, mouth buried in his hair. “You ever think you’d get hard like this, sucking cock?” 

“Casey –” Chuck had to gulp, closing his eyes behind the blindfold, centering all of his focus on the fingers jerking him off, his mouth kissing under his ear. “Don’t just … okay ..?”

The pad of his thumb swished over the tip, spreading moistness around the head. “Does your sister know how much you like it? Sucking me off? Wonder what she’d say about her innocent baby brother getting his dick stiff when he’s on his knees, eh?”

“What?” Chuck dodged back and swung out blindly with an arm, swatting at Casey’s hand on his cock. “You big jerk!” When he got nothing but air, he flipped off the bandana before Casey could stop him, scowling. 

Which was exactly Casey’s intent, Chuck figured a second later when he peered up at the larger man’s smart ass grin. “Slow down, killer.”

“My sister?!”

“You know, the doctor? Meddling brunette who lives across the courtyard?”

“Hilarious. You forgot to add that up until last week, for some reason she actually liked you.” Chuck scooted back to put some space between them. “Thought you were a good influence on me.” 

Casey snorted, holding back a laugh as Chuck wrapped his arms around his knees. How the hell did he do that? This was the man who a moment ago was on the brink of climax? Because now he was wearing his agent-cool demeanor, resting an elbow on his knee and extending a hand to him. “If I didn’t bring up your nosy big sister right then, you would’ve burst, kid.” 

“That was your fault!” 

His boyfriend chuckled and waved him off. “Get up.” When Chuck didn’t immediately take his hand, Casey shook his head in exasperation and pulled the kid to his feet. Holding his one hip to keep him close, the agent wasted no time shimmying off his jeans the rest of the way down and toeing them to the side. “I have other plans, Bartowski, so you’ll have to be patient.”

“Patient?” Chuck gaped. “You?” 

Casey proceeded to dip his head, pressing his lips to his shoulder, nipping at the smooth bare skin. “Turn around, kid.” Then he slid his hand down to the kid’s bicep, using it to guide him against the dresser with Casey aligned tightly behind him. “Look in the mirror, can ya?”

This forced Chuck to get eye to eye with his own reflection. No one could explain this. Who was that desperate kid, sex-glazed eyes, chest rising and falling as if he had just sprinted a lap around the track? “What … what’re you doing?”

“Look at you, Bartowski,” Casey murmured. The position of his body behind him, with Casey’s hands on his hips, let him get an eyeful of Casey’s broader shoulders, bulkier pecs – hell, everything – in the reflection. While he peered at his mirror image, one of his arms wrapped around the kid’s waist and pulled his sinewy back to Casey’s chest. “See that …. You want more?”

“No … I’m just – that came out wrong.” Chuck had to stop, right when Casey positioned his dick against the kid’s crack. And pushed. “Shit, Casey ….”

“God, you feel so fucking good.” Casey arched his hips, grinding against him, as Chuck instinctively pushed back. “Yeah … that feels nice, huh?” he breathed, warm air trailing the curve of his neck. “You walked around all week … wanting me to suck you. Fuck your tight ass … well, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll need to stand behind that nerd desk for a week. That’s what you want, isn’t it, kid?” His lips tickled the sensitive nape, tracing the fine line of bone to his shoulder. He bit, getting his teeth on the flexed muscle, caressing the red mark on pale skin with the tip of his tongue. “Get fucked hard?”

He should’ve been mortified at the suggestion, told him to fuck off, but he could only shut his eyes, lost in the haze of those warm hands and thick cock rubbing against his ass. Chuck swallowed. “Casey. I’m asking. Just like the first time, and I know you remember.” When I asked you to take me. Virginity … your bed? They don’t mix. “C’mon, let’s … I want - God … f-fuck me then. I said it, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Now that did cross the line of begging, but he didn’t care. All he wanted, desperately needed, was Casey.

Casey flashed a grin. “Not yet, hot stuff.” 

Jesus. Now what? “I didn’t say it so that you can string me along like a – hey.” 

The protest died as his boyfriend ran a hand along the angle of the jaw, cradling it and firmly steering his face around. Leaning in, Casey kissed him. The press of lips consumed him with a blast of energy, the passionate teasing, glides of his tongue invoking a shiver. He groaned when Casey pulled back too soon. 

“Open your eyes,” he said. “And try to keep them open for once.”

The kid’s eyes sprung wide. “What? Why?” 

As an answer, Casey used the grip to gently force him to look in the mirror. At the stranger there. Dazed and trembling, hair curling up in weird shapes thanks to foreplay that had gone into extra innings. The kid looking back, so raw and exposed, sent a wave of embarrassment through him.

He didn’t want to look at himself like this. He couldn’t. His eyes shifted to Casey’s, just brilliant blue and mesmerizing in the dim light. And wanting him to relax, his boyfriend skimmed his lips over his neck, kissing, nibbling until he met his gaze in the mirror. 

That look. Trouble. Chuck felt something tighten in his lower belly. “Something … tells me I should be worried, so whatever you’re thinking –” 

A smile grew on his face, sexy and wicked. “I like watching … when you’re like this,” Casey breathed, lips to his ear. The hand around his middle began making slow strokes over his lower belly. “I like the way you twitch and breathe when you come,” he told him. His hand went lower. “Ever see it, kid? When you … let lose? Abandon all your little geek logic … let someone else take control?”

Confused, Chuck stared at him. Oh. Right. Because he’s crazy, that’s why. “Have I ever – Hell, no. Do you think I would stand in front of a mirror and watch myself when I –? No. My God, Casey, are you – that’s a bad idea, so get that look off your face – gah.” Words with meanings and reason got stuck in his throat as Casey’s hands slid over bare flesh to gently pull his butt cheeks, making a snug channel in the crack.

He pressed into that place. “Yeah, feels good there, huh, kid.”

“… Oh, shit ….”

“Wish you could see your face when I do this.” Casey flexed his hips behind him, then wrapped a thick arm around his waist to shepherd the kid backwards, wanting him to feel the hard press. “You bite down on the tip of your tongue, exactly the way it is when you’re working on a hard drive or some shit like that.” Grinning, he kissed his neck. “You know that?”

Chuck had to blink at him. “Casey, this kind of torture may work for your run of the mill weapons dealer, but for me, I prefer the kind – what are you doing now?”

While he was babbling, Casey had pulled back a step, positioning a hand on the middle of his back. “Yeah … I want you to watch your face this time,” he said. “Watch me while I fuck you.”

Chuck let his gaze drift to the side, up that incredible terrain of curved muscle behind him. The idea of it. Was it … so wrong? The sweat-slick images pushed away other thoughts and Chuck, biting his lip, had to look at his feet. Belligerence gave way to … curiosity. 

Curiosity?! Shit. This was all Casey’s fault.

“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

Kissing his shoulder, Casey drew his knuckles down the swell of his butt cheek. “Yep.” 

Now that wasn’t subtle. With a huff, Chuck narrowed his eyes at Casey’s reflection. “You’re a little bit insane you know that?”

“I like to think of it as broadening your horizons, kid.” Casey’s touch swept down his back, squeezing his ass. “Always thought you needed to get your head out of a laptop and open your eyes.”

“And I always thought that if you learned human communication skills, that – oh hell, what … what is that?” 

Something wet and hot swished his lower back, rolling down in a heated path to the base of his spinal column. “You should recognize that, kid.” Casey did the same move, and probably smiling back there since Chuck shuddered and bumped against the soft touch. “Been in your mouth for the past half hour.”

“Oh, God.” There it was again. His tongue, looping into the crack as Casey’s fingertips separated the cheeks. Hot, rough against his tender skin. Chuck screwed his eyes closed and let his hands slide across the top of the dresser, bending over it. Giving him access, permission to do it again. Right there. “Feels so … oh … fuck.”

“Yeah, you’re thinking about it … impatient little nerd, aren’t you? Let me do this first,” Casey managed, running his hand over his ass. Taking hold of a buttock, he dragged his fingers deep within the cleft, brushing the rim. Hell, it felt so hot. “Wanna feel my tongue there?”

“Why … why are you asking? I’m not going to say – shit.” Chuck groaned when he did it anyway. He shifted his hips into it and lowered his head. “… -ffuck you.”

Casey chuckled at that. “Like those noises … keep doing it. Curse at me if you want.” His free hand cupped his ass, took a firm hold. He was down on his haunches now, bent and teasing him with his tongue, licking at his rim. Unbelievable the way he did it. Not a damn bit of remorse or shame, looping in a tiny whirl, giving him the knife-edge of pleasure with the tip of his tongue,

Oh, God. Chuck had to rock into him, overcome by the heat of his mouth. “Damn you … for that … it’s so ….” 

“Yeah, better. Come back on it, stallion …. Yeah, like that.” The addition of a strong finger, moving between his legs to find his hole, forced his hips to buck into the hell-born pleasure. “I know you want to.”

“Casey, I can’t ….” Shitshitshit. He was going to come if he kept doing it. But he couldn’t stop it. With his fists knotted, Chuck had to stoop and lay his cheek on the cool glass surface. Steady himself before Casey scorched him. “If you keep –”

“Bartowski?” Casey cut in with a hoarse whisper, and like a cruel joke, his tongue and fingers vanished. Something smooth brushed over his ass cheek, a soft caress, but not what he wanted.

“God, I’m not going to like whatever you have to say right now.”

“You closed your eyes.” That strong hand pinched one of his cheeks, making Chuck flinch and push himself up on his elbows. “Open them, kid.” 

“How … How would you know?” Chuck glared at him in the mirror. “Because from that position, even the eyes in the back of your head couldn’t have told you that!”

“And don’t come yet.” 

“Holy God,” Chuck muttered, closing them again. Really? Was that another order, Major, after shoving his tongue up his ass like that? 

Casey stood, giving Chuck a view of broad shoulders, muscles bunching and rippling across his chest and arms, the tight flex of his legs. His palms curled around Chuck’s hips, pressing him back into damp hard flesh. “Feel my dick right there?” he asked, grazing his lips over his stubbly cheek. “You wanna watch yourself take cock, kid? Wanna get fucked right here…?” Casey breathed against the edge of his mouth. “Like this?”

All right. Now that was as far from a question as one could get and still make it sound like a choice. That wasn’t the confusing part. 

It was more than a little mystifying that Chuck didn’t want it to be a question.

Still, the presumptuous shit head for making him want that.  
“I really can’t – If you would stop and … listen to yourself, then – whoa. Hold it.” Chuck startled as a hand slid over his shoulder, fingers grazing the line of his jawbone. Trusting but not knowing, he jerked his head to the side, trying to wrench free. Yeah, like that ever worked with Casey? 

In reality, it was a sure-fire way to make him more aggressive. And just like that, Casey responded by clamping his fingertips into his jawbone, stilling him. “Easy, tiger,” he murmured.  
So instead, Chuck clenched his teeth and pointed a sour-faced look at that smirk in the mirror. “Do you mind? Let go, will you?”

“Christ.” Casey’s lips whispered along the back of his neck, his cheek brushing under his hairline. With the firm, possessive hold of his jaw, he steered Chuck’s face forward to look dead-on into his own large dark eyes in the reflection. He should close them but he can’t disappoint him yet. “Fighting me, Bartowski?” There was definitely a smile across his nape, tickling his curls. “Have no idea what the hell you’re thinking, kid, but I like it when you’re a stubborn little bastard.”

“Huh. So much irony in one tightly wound package,” Chuck grit out since his chin was immobilized. “Again, kindly remove your bear paw, because if you think – ah.” 

It amazed him that Casey let his hand fall, but not so amazing that it was only to swat lightly at Chuck’s hip. “Move, will ya?” Casey said, giving him a tiny push to the side. “Gotta get in the drawer, and though your enthusiasm is appreciated, champ, your equipment may get wedged in if you leave it there.”

“Wow. Charming, too,” the kid deadpanned. Though Casey did have a point. Sheepishly, Chuck glanced down and blushed. His cock was so erect it was almost brushing his belly. Could his lack of sex in five weeks be more obvious? Well. Besides the five year stint, but hey. Who was counting that? 

“Left or right, Bartowski.”

“Looking for a lost sock?” he joked lamely, shifting to the side and hoping that would take attention from his painful circumstances. 

“Needed something to stuff in your mouth,” Casey replied, looking up to wink at him before going back to digging through the socks. After a few seconds, he pulled out a condom and a travel-sized lube. “Knew it was in there.”

Chuck’s brows flew up. “Are you kidding me? Do you have to keep your supplies everywhere? Do you really think there’s going to be a combustion of spontaneous unplanned sex on every available surface – oh, God ….” Chuck buried his face in his hands. “Don’t answer that. But for future notice? I might’ve accidently thrown away the stash in the glove box of the Vic today.”

“I hope that’s a joke.”

“Hah. It was – but …. Wait. Tell me you’re not serious –”

“Suppose you found the supply under the seat too?” Casey turned his head and blew the tiny shred of the foil wrapper to the floor, the corner of his mouth twitching up into that smile of his. 

“Okay, now I know you’re joking.”

“That’s why you’re the genius.” Slipping a hand over the slope of his ass, Casey used it to slant him back in front of the mirror. “Are you gonna stop squirming?”

“I’m … I don’t squirm.” Oh, hell. He was squirming. The searing touch had emotions rocking him off balance. God, it was difficult to think with his dick this fucking hard.

The kid looked up, his line of sight landing on his boyfriend’s hands. Sometimes, when he wanted to see Casey’s eyes go dark, become drowning pools of fire, Chuck put the condom on him. This time, he just watched. 

Face it, physical dexterity was the type of thing Casey was so good at. His boyfriend could load a cartridge into a firing chamber, line up a laser sight, listen to code phrases in an ear piece, and bark out orders all at the same time. Jesus, look at him. Rolling a condom one handed while he closed his other hand around Chuck’s cock was a no-brainer. 

With his very erect dick now sheathed, Casey turned to face the kid and kissed him, tempting his lips open in a press that burned low in his gut. Surprisingly gentle, seductive. The larger man held the side of his head, fingers sliding into his wavy hair, soothing his scalp while he rubbed against him groin to groin, his hard urgent need touching his. 

“ … God, Casey ….” Chuck breathed, responding with his own grind right back. “You could … you know?”

So that was that. Casey smiled. “Turn. Need you like this.” Still standing hard groin to his, he used the pressure and every available long inch of him to angle Chuck around and face himself in the reflection again. The kid saw a smug smile, felt a warm hand slide around him and pull his butt cheek in tight against Casey’s cock. Putting his lips to his ear, Casey nuzzled. “Bartowski. Is that your way of telling me you got the Nerd Machine ready to go?”

Chuck began to turn, a scowl crossing his face. “Does this technique usually work with your marks, agent?”

He heard a laugh. “It’s a joke, kid.” Casey used his hand, running it over the kid’s lean taut muscle while he lowered his head to drop a kiss on the bare skin of his neck. “Yeah, good,” he whispered. “Like it when you get a little riled up.”

“You did that on purpose?” Because in Casey’s skewed view of the world, this was better. 

“Never had a problem with it before.” Eying his reflection, he grazed his thumb down his spine, brushing in even strokes. “Wound tight tonight, kid.”

There was no arguing a point that obvious, so Chuck closed his eyes to focus on just the feathery touch. But right then, he felt something hard tap his inner foot. 

His head snapped up. “What … was that?”

“C’mon, Romeo. Gonna spread ‘em for me, aren’t ya?” There was another tap on the other heel. “Your knees, kid,” he mumbled, giving his ass a playful pinch. “I told you before. Need a crow bar to get in there when you hold your legs like that.” 

“Was that to get me riled up, too?” Chuck piled on the sarcasm, because a light trace never got through to his boyfriend. “You know, big guy, you’re going to regret letting that secret out of the – hey!”

“Maybe you forgot, champ, but this works a hell of a lot better like this.” The hand in the middle of his back gave him a small but insistent shove. It sent the kid down on his elbows, his ass backwards and up – and in this position, Chuck had no choice but to stare into his own flushed face, deep brown eyes looking back at him. 

He had to look, even as he tried to disconnect himself from that kid, so wanton, lips parted with sharp breaths, eyes murky with lust … not him. Chuck Bartowski was not reckless, not too hungry to relinquish control –

“You … okay?” Casey asked, keeping a hand on the ridge of his spine, moving his fingers slow and easy over warm flesh.

Okay? God, he had never felt anything like this. His cheeks were catching on fire, and bracing himself like this, his ass was out there, more … exposed. Which, he guessed, was all part of Casey’s rationale. “Y-yes,” he heard the kid in the mirror say. 

At his admission, long fingers threaded through his curls, digging in to gently massage his scalp. Kind of nice, Chuck thought, relaxing into it. Until he realized the grip was used to point his face straight ahead, six inches in front of the glass. 

The mirror. The horny, stupid-looking kid staring at him. Hell.

“Good … now, look at me. Keep them open.” Casey’s arm wrapped around his midsection, his breath hellfire on his neck. “I want you, kid …” he said, not hiding a growl of desire as he dipped a lubed finger in his tight hole. “God, help me, I want you right now.” 

It’s not a question. Chuck. Just say yes.

Before he wet his lips to speak, or lean back into him to let him know it was okay, or hell to even think, Casey parted his butt cheeks and thrust. Opening him up, splitting him to the core.

It would hurt, because it had been awhile, and Casey … well, the joke about standing in line twice wasn’t exactly a joke, was it? Chuck’s muscles tightened against the pain even as he groaned with the pleasure of it. Ache and ecstasy rode on the same razor sharp edge, so close he didn’t know which one was which.

“God ….” Casey rasped against his neck, reacting to the tightening he had to feel. Telling the kid to relax was useless, they both knew, so instead Casey slid a hand over his lower back, caressing muscles, rubbing in circles. The slow even strokes made Chuck feel every inch of that cock deep inside of him, each thrust burning like fire, smoking out his inhibitions. “You feel so fucking good. Yeah, feel that …?” He wasn’t thrusting home yet, just enough. Enough to make Chuck want to push back, tilt up, telling him he wanted it. 

Jesus, Casey is big. “Oh. That’s just … oh. Fuck.”

“Did you miss it, kid? Miss feeling me in your ass?”

Chuck moaned and shut his eyes at the delicious torture of a stroke deeper than the rest. “Ca- shit ….” Oh … God …. That thrust forced a wordless noise of protest, begging. 

“Yeah … you got it. Eyes open, kid ….” A pair of hands wrapped around his hips, fingertips digging in, controlling his movement – or to stop him from shaking out of his skin. “You wanna come back on it? Take what you want …?” Casey leaned over his back, his lips warm lips grazing Chuck’s neck, nuzzling his nose in soft curls. “Take it,” he said.

The tender supplication, asking him to let his body remember, past the urgency of absence, what it meant to be taken all the way over and beyond. Taken hot and hard and filled with every broken piece of him. 

His last scrap of sanity told him to look up to his reflection, his shoulders glistened in sweat. That was enough so he kept his eyes hidden, not looking at them. Words would only get clogged in his throat, so in its place, he answered with a push into him. It was clumsy, a jerking motion, but it drove him deeper than before.

Holy hell … that. The touch of Casey’s bare hands to his shoulders sent the sensation of fire coursing over his skin, telling him he liked it. Wanted more of it.

Chuck quivered, jerked again, and backed into him, wondering if Casey needed an engraved invitation sealed with wax to take this. “God … Casey. Just c’mon.”

It was incredible to feel every inch of him. A deep thrust as he leaned back, and the anxious feeling evaporated, leaving only a tempest of swirling need. Clinging to the edge of the dresser, he shifted his eyes to Casey looking back in the mirror. There was a stern set to his mouth, hard lust in his eyes. “Lean back on me … yeah, right there,” he growled in answer to Chuck’s rocking, while the agent’s hand splayed over his belly, pushing him down to meet his cock. “Fuck … do that.”

“Jesus ….” With his muscles trembling, Chuck went back on him again, the rapture of heaven and hell filling him. 

This time, Casey made a deep approving growl. “Shit, yes, you feel good.” Chuck’s willingness to push him further, deeper, inspired a curse, a rougher thrust, so strong the kid had to turn his cheek to the mirror and rest his face against the cool glass. “All that … purity wrapped in one sweet nerd.” He punctuated the end of that with lazy thrust, testing how far Chuck would let him go. “Never thought you’d want it that badly, did you…?” Casey murmured. “Like my dick?”

“Dammit … Casey….” He made a soft noise, a breath of sound. 

Casey thrust in, using the grip on his hips to hold him rigid, making it slow and easy. “Is that it? Only want to give you what you want, kid.”

“God … give me everything….” the kid whispered into his fist. “That’s what I want.”

What he wants. Chuck’s eyes drifted closed at the suggestion of it.

There was a soft laugh, and a hand that came up to rest in the small of his back, rubbing, pressing down. “Warm-ups are over then, Bartowski.” When Casey arched his hips, he stretched him hard, sending a spark of stars behind his eyelids. “Jesus … your tight ass…”

“God ….” Something on the dresser was digging into his chest, but Casey’s legs were locked over his, nailing them down. And more importantly, he didn’t give a damn. Chuck swayed back to him, only needing to press against his lover, nothing more. “Fuck, John….”

Casey responded. Started really fucking him, hard but not bruising, not easing off on the down stroke. “You … like that?”

Chuck strained underneath him, attempted to prop himself up on his elbows, which was no easy feat since the dresser was wobbling with the force of both of them. He wanted to watch. Not him. Casey. Wanted to see that look of pure determination, then that moment, when heat built in his eyes and they went heavy-lidded. The way he bit down on his lip and let go for once.

Fueled by the kid’s movement, Casey thrust deeper, looking for the place that would send both of them to their release. With his boyfriend sprawled tight and hot against his upper body, the smell of his skin, clean sweat and the heady musk of masculinity filled his nostrils. “Yeah,” Casey said, “you always make that little sound …. Like a kid getting his first fuck.”

“Casey, I –” What was he going to say? Chuck shuddered at the touch of Casey stroking ridges of muscles before descending. The words, the burning current of pleasure and pain … it was sending him to the edge at warp speed, and he wasn’t ready for it to happen. Too good ….

He tried to straighten, make it harder for Casey to take him deep, but his boyfriend rammed him. He did it without thought, without shame or self-consciousness, just raw need and animalistic taking of what was his. Letting him feel the full size of him. “Don’t clench, sport,” Casey’s said, his voice hoarse and faraway. “You can take all of me ….”

Everything, living and real, for the man he is.

Casey dropped a hand from Chuck’s hip, along his waist and down, sliding his palm over his length, coordinating the pulls with his tight strokes. His thumb rubbed the tip, pressed against the underside of his cock and Chuck arched into him, thigh and ass muscles constricting. Jesus. He wants him to be the first to give it up. 

“Killing me here ….” Chuck said, surprised he could say it without choking.

“Heh.” A long drag and swish around the crown. “Not the point, kid.”

Lifting his head, Chuck forgot it all but watching his face, not seeing his own dark eyes, his curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. Needed to stay there and hold him deep within … but Casey’s skin was warm and damp – and he felt helpless in those strong hands ….

They were moving together now, keeping their gazes pinned on each other in the steamy reflection. If the eye contact was broken, the rhythm, the connection of bodies would be lost. His bare skin to his. Hearts hammering. Chuck had to refrain from coming at the excruciating feel of it, the pent up power and strength over him. 

One deep breath. Every fiber strained, needing more of him. 

“Not letting go of you, kid.” Casey said, his voice barely emitting sound from behind him. True to his word, he lifted his hips, the kid’s feet nearly coming off the floor. And thrust. Chuck groaned. Their hard angular bodies melded perfectly … and that was it.

Let everything go ….

“Oh, God …. Shit.” Chuck squeezed his eyes shut and his climax exploded, too powerful to stop. A thin stream shot out, then another as he moaned and lowered his head. “Ca-sey … John….”

It’s amazing to the kid that as Casey’s shattering him into pieces, it spurs his boyfriend on. Tension overwhelmed him, his limbs shaking as Casey started to thrust home more firmly, a consuming intensity in each stroke. “Mnhh fuck ….” he groaned. 

The guttural curse and the spasmodic vibrations told Chuck that he gave Casey’s body what he needed. His boyfriend fell over the edge right after him, that hard undeniable cock of his filling him. 

Seconds blurred together as the kid came down from the sensation of floating, expanding. Giving and taking. Casey’s hand was now on his back, stroking away the tension, the intimacy of touching him after wrenching him apart. There was shifting behind him, and Casey leaned forward, dropped a light kiss on his shoulder. The simple physical contact made him tingle, like rushing water spilling out of his senses. 

That same sound of water was affecting his hearing. There was no way he heard Casey utter that.

“Mine.” Fingers rolled gently over his ass, his lower back. “Don’t you forget it.”

Chuck had to swallow, catching his breath. Of course, that was the moment his lover chose to back up and pull out, making him wince at the loss of him. The kid stiffened, focusing on Casey’s reflection.

“Did you say – what was that?”

Casey turned Chuck’s body to face him, curled his hand over the side of his neck, and brought him in for a kiss. “Nothing,” he said when he pulled back, then took care of the condom. 

They both knew there was more going on here, but Jesus. After that, emotions needed to ride the waves in before there were soul baring confessions. Casey wasn’t into baring the inside. That Chuck knew. To break up the silence, Chuck leaned in, kissed him back – just a sweet one without the hot sauce. Then he looked down at the dresser. 

Oh, boy. Casey was not going to like the defiling of his things. “Um … sorry about that,” Chuck said, stopping to clear his throat. “I can, uh, clean that up?”

With a glance down at the small milky pool, Casey did the last thing he expected. A slow lazy grin slid over his face as he reached down and poked his skinny ass. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Now, if I could get you to spank out Lemon-scented Pledge, I’d get a two for one out of the deal. What do you nerds call that again? Multi-tasking?” 

Chuck stared, trying not to laugh since that only encouraged him. “You are still a complete asshole.” 

Wiping up the mess and tossing the tissue, Casey moved in, standing eye to eye, lips a hairsbreadth away, bodies completely naked and pressed close. He kissed, like a slow blues rhythm, sultry cool notes overtaking the oxygen in the room. They stayed like that for a while, beating chest to chest, fingers of one hand entwined. 

Then, with his mouth still touching his, Casey said, “And you are coming to bed.”

-x-

Sleep was impossible to come by.

An hour later, the kid sorted through the mental checklist of how to extricate himself from the arms of the biggest bad ass in the Golden State. Well, since this was Casey, it was probably wasn’t prudent to limit him to the Western seaboard. But if he lifted his arm in just the right way, and slipped his back delicately to the side, he could do it. He had to work quickly, twisting his way out of the thick arm draped over his chest, slipping his head out of the perfect nook of his shoulder –

And there. Silent as death and proud of himself for that maneuver, Chuck slipped on a pair of cotton drawstring pants and a brown t-shirt. Wow, he really was getting better at this, Chuck noted, smiling down at him. 

When he bent over the sleeping man, blankets nested around his middle, the kid pretended to touch his lips. Not skin to skin. A real touch would wake him. He took a moment to study the sharp blade outline of his jaw, refraining from tracing the slope of his nose, or threading his fingertips through the short, soft hair beginning to curl at the tips.

I’ll never figure you out. 

But one of these days you’re going to tell me. Why me? Why was I the one to break you?

One last look and he padded softly to the threshold, down the hallway and stairs. When he reached the front door of the apartment, Chuck disabled the security – Casey would be pissed for that – and crossed the courtyard. He hesitated at the trickling fountain, almost taking a seat along the edge, but the orange wavering glow of a dying fire in the outdoor stone fireplace was too tempting to pass up. Within the hearth, dwindling flames licked the charred logs, crackling and slowly sizzling. Made him want to come home every day to this feeling, knowing Casey would be part of his life now.

Maybe he should’ve woken him up. 

Chuck stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled to the fireplace, turning to sit. Oh, crap. If he remembered it correctly, Mrs. Hadichian had a set of cushioned café chairs by her front door nearby, so after he glanced past his shoulder to confirm he was alone, the kid discreetly borrowed one of the pads and set it on the stone ledge before plopping down. Note to self: he would not let Casey see that. The cocky grin would stretch for a week. 

Bastard.

The night air felt good against his skin. It did nothing to stop the buzzing between his ears, however. His dad coming back into his life, even for a short time. Being stuck with the Intersect. Hell, almost losing his life. Worse yet, almost loosing Casey. 

But this was the part he was good at, he knew. Where he exceled. Understanding each segmented piece of the problem, and finding the answer. Maybe there was still a way, maybe Orion –

Some spy he was. The soft and distinctly female voice caused him to jolt like an idiot. 

“Hey, Chuck.” 

-x-End Way Back Chapter Nineteen-x-


	26. Chapter Twenty

Casey vs. the Way Back (Chapter Twenty)

 

“Sarah?” Chuck resisted the urge to rub his eyes. Was he hallucinating, or were the hours in front of electronic games finally blurring the edges of reality? Casey had warned him about that, but he was only teasing. Wasn’t he? 

“Were you … walking in your sleep?” Her eyes traveled down to his cotton pants and back up again to give him a questioning look.

“I … what? I thought you were – what are you doing here?”

“Well, first – quite a greeting, Chuck.” The blonde edged forward, bringing herself out of the shadow cast by the stone archway. “And how are you?”

Idiot. “God, sorry. So sorry.” The kid surged to his feet, hands pawing the air in apology. “That was rude, wasn’t it? You can tell me. I mean, when you see a friend that you didn’t expect, the normal greeting is more of a – hey, how’s it –”

“Really, Chuck? Slow down. I missed you too.” She stepped closer, and now there was enough light on her face that Chuck could make out a small smile. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Scared?” The pinprick of humiliation made him stand taller. “No, no, no. I just didn’t expect anyone out here in the courtyard,” he said, folding his arms over his wrinkled t-shirt. “I thought I was alone.” 

And he should point out that he wasn’t a complete rookie anymore. It had been months since he nearly crapped his pants when someone jumped out of the shadows at him. 

Her heels made a soft clacking noise as she strolled over to the fireplace, and standing a half a dozen steps away, it confirmed this was real. Down to the simple blue top, form fitting jeans over her curves, and a pair of sandals with a heel that brought her almost eye to eye with him. The elusive Agent Walker. In the flesh. 

“You’re alone?” she wondered. “What are you doing out here?” 

“Me? I hate to point out the obvious here, but you’re the one that popped out of the blue with no explanation or warning –”

“No ex –? Jesus, Casey,” she said, letting out a groan. “I didn’t expect that you would be here now … and I would have to explain … this.” Sarah shook her head, pushing a few long locks from her forehead before looking up at him. “Your boyfriend? I hate to tell you this, but he can be a bullheaded ass sometimes.”

“Sarah. Newsflash here.” Chuck scoffed and made the sound of a buzzer. “I live with the man. It’s way more than sometimes, okay? Now, explain. Please.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Chuck uncrossed his arms and moved a step forward, deeming it safe to let down his guard. Why was she not answering him? Maybe other blind saps who didn’t live with a man like Casey missed the imperceptible movements, subtle muscle twitches. But thanks to the study of his lover, the kid could see one thing written on her face. Sarah Walker was not in Echo Park to make a social visit. This was business.

Which meant the government would soon be fucking up his life again.

“Where’s Casey?” Sarah asked. Her eyes lingered on his face, then glanced past the kid towards the apartment they shared. “Did you guys … are you having a tiff?”

“A tiff? Who, us? We’re … rock solid.” Outwardly, Chuck bristled a bit. “Never been better.” 

Now, the past three weeks? Those were living hell, but Sarah Walker would not be privy to that bit of juicy Intel.

“Glad you worked it out.” The corner of her mouth drew up in a smile. “When I had to leave the two of you, he seemed –”

“He’s staying, okay?” Chuck took a deep breath, trying not to fidget. “Thanks for asking.”

“So where is lover boy, then?” Sarah went back to scanning the area for any sign of a man who was hard to miss. “It’s not like him to let the … Intersect out of his sight.” She didn’t mean Intersect there, either.

“Cute, Sarah. Can we focus here, please?” Chuck’s brows crinkled a bit at the dig on Casey. “First, a piece of advice. Nicknames aren’t his thing, so you may want to tone down anything in the Casanova or Romeo realm of designations. And second, if you have to know, he’s currently –”

“Right here, Walker,” a familiar, deep voice said, and the topic of discussion came into their line of sight, striding around the fountain. Happily, for all interested parties, the SIG’s laser pointer, which had been dancing in the vicinity of Sarah’s temple, vanished. Casey’s stiff arm relaxed, muscles unbunching as he lowered the menacing handgun a few inches. “One of these days I’ll shoot first, you know.”

“Nice to see you too, Casey.” Sarah swiveled to face him, relaxing her arm that had reflexively gone for her firearm. “About time, Mister Handler. You’re getting sloppy.” She made a show of looking down at her watch. “I expected you out here five minutes ago.”

Casey angled his head and aimed a severe look at his lover. “Would’ve been here sooner if someone hadn’t shoved my pants under the dresser,” he muttered. 

“Who? Me? I would never –”

“Heh.”

That particular exchange, which they thought had been between them, did confirm one thing. Agent Walker still possessed the ears of a bat. She smirked. “Nice hair, Casey.”

Casey looked like he wanted to point the SIG at her head again, but he shot her a black look instead. “Go to hell, Walker,” Chuck heard him say under his breath. He did, however, take a second to smooth down his untamed tufts of hair. 

“Casey.” Chuck gave him a disapproving look for the travel directions he had offered up to Sarah. “How did I even wake you up?” he asked. “I have to say, I moved pretty stealthily for a lanky person, and you were knocked out cold when I left.” He lowered his voice. “And considering you were wrapped around me like a barnacle –” 

“I could tell you were gone,” Casey said, cutting him off, not taking his eyes off the blonde intruder.

Chuck smiled at that. And a piece of hair still sticking out. “Really, that’s –”

“Not now, Bartowski.” Casey’s demeanor shifted from exasperated boyfriend to annoyed badass in the time it took to tuck his thumbs in his front pockets and square his shoulders. “Walker, you’re early, aren’t you? I guess it confirms the CIA still doesn’t know the first thing about following orders. If the kid’s sister pops out of there,” and he nodded towards her apartment, “without establishing a cover for your ass being back here, that just blows everything, doesn’t it?”

“Wait. Did you say back here?” Chuck gaped. “Back – as in here?”

Sarah’s forehead wrinkled in disbelief, and even in his baffled state, the kid knew she was pissed at Casey. She wheeled around on the NSA agent. “You didn’t tell your boyfriend anything?”

Casey stared her down with a look that normally sent people, many many damn people, scattering. “You haven’t come up in the … conversation lately, Walker. And frankly, we’ve been busy.” 

Words were always sparse with the big guy, but when he set his mind to it, the ones he chose could work double duty.

Chuck slinked forward, stepping between them. “That wasn’t his fault. We … uh, there were surprises and a nice dinner and I’m sure he didn’t want to ruin it. Right, Casey?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, keeping his voice even. “You heard the kid. That’s it.”

What in freakin’ hell was going on? Despite his spinning thoughts, Chuck sensed his duty as boyfriend was to downplay the ambuscade until he could get Casey alone.

“And I’m sure he was going to tell me.” The kid focused his attention on his lover, narrowing his eyes just once. “Because I knew earlier today … when I brought up the Intersect testing … that he wasn’t telling me something. But I also knew he would.”

Casey tilted an eyebrow. “You could tell? How?”

“Well. You always do this cute little – oh … you know what? Never mind. If I tell you, you’ll stop doing it.” Chuck brushed his hand down Casey’s rumpled shirt, straightening it for him, and blew out a breath. “But I think you owe me an explanation. What is going on?” He glanced at Sarah. “What are you not telling me?”

Sarah shifted her gaze from one man to the other. “Don’t look at me. This seems to fall under the domain of Boyfriend Responsibilities. You know, that thing some people call communication?”

Casey grunted. He didn’t like it, but realized he was stuck. “Hell,” he said, a growl in his voice. “There’s good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”

“Considering this is me, I’m just surprised there’s good news at all,” Chuck remarked, feeling a sweat break out under his shirt. “Let’s change things up. I need some good news, so can I hear that part first?”

Casey shrugged and met Chuck’s questioning eyes. “Bryce is dead.”

“Wha –”

“Thanks, Casey.” Sarah rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, giving him the stink eye. “I think Chuck said he wanted to hear the good news first.”

“And that’s what I gave him.”

“Wait. Bryce is … dead?” The thought tore through him, and faced with that blunt kick of emotions, Chuck wanted to let go with a million questions. Roommate, best friend, betrayer – he wasn’t even certain how he felt about the news. “Bryce?” Looking away, he dragged his hand through his hair, his mind racing. “Hold on. This is Bryce Larkin we’re talking about. Bryce is invincible, isn’t he?” A shot of nerves forced Chuck to begin pacing between Casey and the fountain. “Maybe … maybe this is like the other times he died.”

“Chuck, you should let Casey finish before you –”

“Or it’s only the illusion of death. Wait, I got it.” His feet slid to a stop. “Once … in college? We talked about cryopreservation – you know, what it would be like to preserve ourselves until intergalactic space travel was –”

“God dammit, I knew this was gonna happen.”

“Or maybe … okay, maybe he found a batch of liquid nitrogen somewhere.” This was crazy. But this was Bryce. He began pacing again, side to side, while his voice rose an octave. “I don’t know, but it’s possible – and suppose he found a way to spontaneously –”

“Bartowski.” When he didn’t bother to look, to stop, Casey grabbed a handful of Chuck’s t-shirt and hauled him in. “Just c’mere, will ya?” 

“Ow. Son of bitch, Casey.” Chuck pulled back, but it wasn’t as if Casey gave him a choice. Another strong tug, and he stumbled against his broad chest. “You can let go of my damn shirt.”

“First, you’re gonna look at me.” 

“What else have you not told me?”

That stung. Or at least, with someone else, it should. 

“Jesus.” Casey wrapped an arm around his waist, and with his other hand, he steered his chin around to make him meet his eyes. “Not gonna talk to you when you’re acting like a goddamn ping pong ball.”

“Talk. Got to hand it to you. Nice word choice.” On top of everything else, he was now annoyed with Casey’s manhandling. “This’ll be new territory for you, but go ahead. Start talking.”

Casey steeled his jaw. “Bryce is dead.” Strong fingers curled over his cheek in a gentle caress, a peculiar contrast to his words. “End of story.”

When it registered that Casey had said Bryce and dead together like that, as if it were real and there was no room for the usual speculation, the kid froze. He stared at him for a full minute, only silence save for the sound of the logs in the fire crackling and sizzling, dying. 

“End of story?” Chuck asked, jerking back to free his chin. Because with Bryce nothing was one hundred percent certain, ever, even with bullet holes. “For the record, I don’t to want to hear your version of the story this time. I’d like to know what happened. A few weeks ago, I saw Bryce thrown into the trunk of a car, but he was alive, and now you’re telling me –”

“Not for lack of trying,” Casey grumbled, letting his arm drop. “If you hadn’t jammed my magazine, this would be a non-issue right now.”

Chuck frowned. “What … happened. I deserve to know how the person who sent me the Intersect died, don’t you think? Aren’t we playing for keeps, Casey?” 

That’ll piss him off. Spinning back his own words at him.

“Yeah.” Casey squinted. “Good point, Bartowski.” Deliberately, he leaned in closer and delivered the message with the same aplomb as a weather report. “He was shot in the kidney and a few other organs you may consider vital. Bushmaster ACR at close range. Left a nice mess on the wall for the NSA cleaners. Even pretty-boy Larkin would have a hard time faking his own death when he’s got enough bullet holes in him to –”

“Casey.” That woman could still move like a cat. He could’ve sworn she was at least a dozen paces away, but in a blink, Chuck felt her shoulder brush his. His boyfriend had struck a nerve. 

“What?” Casey moved a shoulder. “He wanted to hear it.”

Sarah nudged Chuck to the side and peered up at her ex-partner. “Your delivery of news is just as diplomatic as ever, Major. Maybe next time –”

“Mom? Dad?” Chuck cut in, raising his hand. “Can we focus here? I’m not a kid, okay? I appreciate what you’re doing, trying to save me from some of the unsavory details of how my ex-best friend has apparently … died, I guess is the word here. But I just have a sneaking suspicion there’s a good chunk of this story that I need to hear. By that, I mean … now.”

Sarah and Casey shared a glowering look. Eventually, the NSA agent rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, losing the battle. Allegedly, this also fell under the heading of distasteful Boyfriend Duties. 

“Bryce volunteered to take the upgrade when you turned it down,” Casey said. “Hell, maybe it was always Beckman’s plan to have both of you there that night.”

“See? I was right,” Chuck told him, rocking back on his heels to get an extra inch of height. “You did that … cute thing right then and I knew –”

“You are gonna tell me about that, you know.”

“Boys?” Sarah cleared her throat. “Can we get through this tonight?”

Her tone made Casey frown as he turned back to Chuck. “When you respectfully declined her request for the upgrade, I was … surprised she didn’t push it. Or ask me to –”

“Make me get upgraded?”

“Persuade,” Casey corrected in a silky voice. “Bryce was escorted to the testing site. He went in alone, without the current Human Intersect as his fellow test subject.”

“So?” It took the kid a second or two to realize Casey looked at Sarah to avoid eye contact with him. Why? “And I’m not complaining about that,” Chuck said. “But then what?”

“It was a trap.” Casey shook his head. “Bryce stumbled into an ambush. He was dead man the moment he stepped foot underground. Fulcrum –”

“Or another threat,” Sarah interrupted.

“– they were in the testing facility, waiting for Larkin to deliver the Core –”

“The Core? Hold on. The device … Costa Rica? When Beckman forced you to seduce another m –”

“Which never happened.” It was interesting to see something that large get that squirmy, but the kid wisely let it go. “Fine. Yeah, that device – except he never had a chance to upload 2.0. Bryce was killed. The device was stolen, and along with that the essential technology of the Intersect.”

“Killed before he – but that means –”

“What it means,” Casey said, his voice low, “is that if you had agreed to the upgrade, you’d be ….” Something murky and dark shifted in his expression. He cleared his throat and let the rest trail off. “Instead, it was Bryce. The fall-out of his fuck-up is we were blindsided by Fulcrum or … someone and they have the device.”

“Wait. Someone else. You’ve said that twice now. Besides Fulcrum?”

Sarah, sitting back during the volley of questions, slanted a look up at him. “We have reason to believe that Fulcrum may not be the full extent of the threat. They may part of a larger terrorist organization … but with Bryce gone –”

“Moron. The only witness who could tell us what the hell happened down there.”

“And the device with it,” she went on, ignoring Casey, “we have no way of knowing who they –”

“Yes, we do.”

“– are, how far the web of their network has infiltrated, or – wait.” Sarah and Casey both stopped to scrutinize the kid. “What?”

Chuck looked at their suddenly-confused countenances and shook his head. He turned to his boyfriend, putting pressure under his elbow. “Where are my pants?”

Sarah gave both of them a curious glance. “I’m … staying out of this one.”

“Casey?” Chuck fought a flush. He leaned in and whispered, “You had them last. I need them.” 

The NSA agent gave the blonde a sidelong look, his expression like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “Same place you left mine,” he said, blue eyes studying him, sharp and unreadable. “Why?”

“Under the dresser. Got it. Be right back.” Before they could slow him down with questions, Chuck took off for the apartment in a dead sprint. 

It had to be there. Skidding past the threshold, he ran through the living room and up the stairs, pushing the bedroom door open. 

“Where are they?” he muttered. Coming to a halt in front of the chest of drawers, the kid got down on his knees, reaching underneath and patting the floor, waiting for his hand to hit something –

There. He latched onto the jeans and began searching the pockets. Where is it? There was a chance it could’ve fallen out in the … tussle. And it’s not like they would’ve noticed. Lowering himself to an ungraceful sprawl on the floor, Chuck felt around under the dresser, sweeping past a few dust bunnies in the back ….

Got it. Flipping it over in his hand, the kid tucked it in his fist and climbed up from his knees, brushing himself off. As Chuck backtracked down the stairs, he had an odd fleeting thought that Sarah would be gone again, and only Casey would be waiting for him at the stone fireplace.

It was still beyond confusing that he would be okay with that. 

But when he trotted past the fountain, they were both waiting. The agents turned in unison at the soft scuffling of his footsteps. 

“Chuck, your pants? What is this all about?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms.

“Kid, if you don’t start talking –” Casey stood shoulder to shoulder with her, and the two of them seemed to create a wall of skepticism and impatience. “Why the sudden sprint?”

“Guys … I’ve been carrying this around in my pants –”

“Oh.” Sarah didn’t seem to know where to focus for a moment, so she looked up at the sky. “I really didn’t – what?”

“Bartowski, this is one of those times you need to engage your geek brain before you open your mouth.” 

Chuck sent him a withering look. “I hate you both,” the kid announced, catching his breath from the burst of exercise. “What I was trying to say is that he knew. Bryce knew what he was walking into that night.”

“What makes you say that?” Sarah moved in a closer.

“So he decided to get himself killed.” Casey lifted a shoulder in indifference. “Huh. For once, the little cocksucker had a half-way decent plan.”

“My ex-best friend just died. Can we be serious about this please?” Though he did look serious. 

“Chuck, what do you mean, he knew?” Sarah repeated, since he had yet to answer.

“He tried to warn me.” Chuck held up his wallet, forcing both of them to blink at it almost stupidly.

“Let’s jump to the part where you actually make sense, eh?”

Chuck decided to cover up Casey’s impatience with a poke of his elbow to his waist. “Hold on, young grasshopper ….”

“…the hell.”

“Never mind. Hold on … it’s in here. I saved it.”

“Saved what?” Even Sarah, who usually earned points for more tolerance, looked like she wanted to grab his collar and shake him.

“This.” Chuck’s fingers slid into one of the inner slots of the worn billfold. Gingerly, he fished out the object of his search and held it up between two fingers. “Remember, Casey?” 

Casey focused on the business card. Hell. If the look was any barometer, he remembered all right. The NSA agent scowled, immediately recognizing the handwriting – and the message. 

“Are you asking if I recall how that little fucker tried to warn you about me –”

“Whoa. Slow down.” Chuck stopped him with defensive hands against his chest. “It’s not what you think. I mean, I can see why you thought it at the time. It made no sense to me either – and if it means anything … I was never going to listen to that advice anyway.” The kid gave him a small smile and laid a hand on Casey’s arm, still obstinately crossed in front of him. “But it had nothing to do with you.”

“Bryce’s handwriting.” Sarah closed the distance in order to read the card. “‘Don’t do it’. Hmm, cryptic.” She lifted a brow at Casey. “You thought he meant that … well, he was telling Chuck that you’re … dangerous.”

Chuck had to laugh. “I have to give Agent Walker one point for her polite word choice there. I think dangerous was the nicest thing he would say. Besides, like I didn’t know that already?”

“Cut the crap and get on with it.” Casey jerked his arm to remove Chuck’s hand, his eyes becoming angry slits. “Now you think that little dickhead meant something else.”

“You seem to have a never-ending list of Larkin labels, don’t you?” 

“I’ll give you to the count of three, and that’s when I –”

“Does he still talk to you like this?” Sarah asked.

“Only when he’s tired or cranky, but this time I think it has to do with you know who coming back into the –”

“Two,” Casey said, uncrossing his arms. Easier to grab that way, of course. 

“All right. Spit it out, I got it,” Chuck said, at the same time backed up a step. “He knew Beckman was going to request the Intersect – nice of her to invite me, huh? – to be part of the upgrade. He wasn’t warning me about you, he was telling me to not to take her up on her kind offer to scramble my brain again.” 

Sarah took it out of his hand and flipped it over. “Where did the card come from?” 

“I found it in my pocket after – well, my boyfriend helped Bryce into the trunk of his car.”

“Help.” Casey grunted. “Your turn for putting a shiny coating on it, cupcake? Is that a nice way to say pistol whipped?”

“There is no nice way to say that, okay?” In an attempt to placate him, Chuck reached out with the hand that Casey had tersely removed a moment before, touching the bare skin of his arm, rubbing back and forth a few times. “He was warning me, sweetie, that it was a – ow. What are you doing? Can I have my –”

“Nuh-uh.” 

Ow ow ow. It was impossible to breathe with Casey holding his hand this tightly. And not letting go, his boyfriend used the grip to pull him in close, until he could put his warm lips to Chuck’s ear. 

“First. Do not call me that. Ever. Second. Do not call me that in front of Walker. Capiche?”

“Please let go.”

Casey took his time to chew it over. “I’m taking that as concurrence, Bartowski.” With a final squeeze of warning, he dropped the hand.

Chuck gave him a sour look, shaking his abused hand out in the air. The feeling was slowly coming back. “Cuddly, isn’t he?” he said to Sarah.

“He should come with a warning label.” Sarah chuckled softly. “Bites when provoked.” 

“Considering my current status of boyfriend in good standing, I really shouldn’t add to this conversation – but forget warning labels. John Casey would need an entire branch of the government overseeing an alert scale of readiness. DEFCON-like, really. You know, five levels of preparedness, the lowest being at sleep or rest, level five being the times when a member of a terrorist sub-culture has him pinned down in a cave – mmph!”

“Christ.” Casey had failed to see the humor in this, based upon the huge paw he had slapped over the kid’s mouth. “Is this what I have to look forward to?” he said, his eyes piercing into startled brown ones. “Can we get back to that little douche screwing things up?”

Chuck managed to make a sound behind Casey’s hand.

“I’ll take that squealing sound as concurrence, too.” Casey tapped his cheek and pulled his hand away before Chuck could bite the tip of his finger. Which the kid tried to do anyway.

“Uh, boys?” There was a smile tugging at the corners of Sarah’s mouth. “Chuck, did you just try to –gosh, isn’t that sweet.” 

Sweet? If there were rules in the Spymoria Handbook, Casey getting caught flirting in front of Walker would clearly be on the Hell No side of the page. The kid figured this out when he felt a small shove and looked over in time to see just a flicker of embarrassment on his lover’s face before the badass checked in again. 

“Stop messing around, Bartowski.”

“That was me? My fault?” 

Sarah seemed to pull it together before the handler and his asset could engage in more flirtatious bickering. “Back to Bryce. He was warning you about what?”

“The upgrade. Or more importantly, that Fulcrum – or whoever, whatever – had infiltrated the site. He knew that when the subjects showed up that night to get the upgrade, they weren’t going to let it happen. They wanted the device –”

“Yeah, which now they have, thanks to pretty boy not tipping us off to the Intel. We could’ve set the trap.”

“Okay, in hindsight – yes. It was a mistake. But he had his reasons, Casey. Even when you think you’re on the inside, you can’t trust anyone,” Chuck said. “We know better than anyone from past experience, don’t we?”

Casey let out a resigned breath. “Sterling,” he said flatly. “They can be anywhere.”

Chuck grinned that his boyfriend had tuned into his line of thought, and snagging his wrist, he gave it a gentle tug. “He knew he couldn’t trust anyone, even on the inside. Anyone Beckman would send in with him.”

“Besides you,” Sarah clarified softly.

“Which would do him a lot of good in gunfight,” Chuck said, trying not to freak out at the thought of it. “Bryce knew that tipping off Beckman would’ve sent a ripple through their ranks. Just like Sterling. It would’ve let them enforce the trap at the Intersect facility.” The kid pushed his hand through his hair and he felt his stomach twisting at the onset of knowing Bryce might just be dead this time. “That’s the way Bryce always liked to play it. Go after them on his own. Off the radar.”

“Little dipshit.” Casey let out a few more curses in the name of his nemesis. “Now we’ll never know what he knew. Who he was meeting that night. Who he suspected.”

“Yes, we will.” Chuck plucked the card out of Sarah’s fingers and flourished it in the air. For a split second, there was silence as the three examined the ink scrawl. Bryce, by all appearances, was in a hurry that night. “Can you let me know when the two trained spies in the room have caught up with me?” Chuck asked, trying not to sound too overconfident.

There was a drawn out silence, but it didn’t take long before a slow grin eased its way over Casey’s face, taking quiet pleasure in knowing he didn’t need it explained. 

“There was only one person Bryce Larkin ever trusted,” the NSA agent said. 

“And that person was the only one Bryce warned ahead of time,” Sarah added without missing a beat. “Bryce went in alone to retrieve the device, but he would’ve left that person –”

“More than a calling card,” Chuck finished, flicking it with his finger. “He would’ve told me.”

“But where?” Sarah raked a hand through her long locks, pulling her hair back from her temple. “Damn Bryce for being so –”

“Where?” Chuck shrugged and, because he wanted to, he kissed his boyfriend’s smooth jaw – right there in front of Sarah. Tough shit, Casey. Get over it. “Uh, road trip?” he asked with a crooked grin.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Casey eyed him for a moment and made a sound of objection. “I never liked that place.”

“Well, it holds fond memories for me – at least up until the last day I spent there.” A sudden thought made the blood drain out of his face. “Except … maybe this time we can do it without the added bonus of an Icelandic spy carrying a cross bow, and perhaps we avert the shoot-out in the science and engineering quad?”

“Only decent part of that trip,” Casey muttered.

“But how would he …?” Sarah’s gaze cut straight to the card. “You think he left something in the library for you. The same dumpsite as before?”

Chuck rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It was the only place. Bryce has a message there for me. I know it. We have to go back. Casey?”

“Can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Casey said. “I’m still wearing black this time, Bartowski.”

“I’m good with that.” Chuck grinned at his boyfriend’s stern face. “The sheer concentration of that much cardinal red in one location would burn the retinas of unsuspecting co-eds within a one hundred yard radius.”

Casey scowled, so of course, Chuck leaned in to kiss the sulk off his lips. Just a small tender one, soft but warm enough to tell him thanks for trusting him. But a large hand came up to Chuck’s chest and pushed gently, enough to tell the kid ‘Not in front of Walker’. 

Chuck smiled against his firm mouth – who had PDA aversion this time? – and drew his lips to Casey’s ear. “Trust me, big guy,” he said. “I happen to be fond of you in black.” 

Sarah choked on something right then. Both men looked over to where she stood by the outcropping of the hearth’s ledge. 

“Something funny, Walker?”

Sarah sent them a narrow glance, gaining composure. “No. It’s just that …. Even after Sterling and everything Chuck and I discussed –”

“Discussed?” Casey veered around to the younger man. “Care to share with the class, kid?”

“Uh ….” Chuck tucked his hands in his pockets, frowning at her. The Inquisition Night at the motel was going haunt him forever. “It’s was just –”

“I’m not used to it yet, that’s all,” Sarah said, rescuing him from further stuttering. “Look at you. The two of you being together like this? The way you two whisper to each other … sharing little secrets. It’s so … cute to see you so happy.” 

Casey straightened. “Walker, under no circumstances, and by that I mean none, will you refer to me as … that. Nothing about me is cute.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. There’s the little – ah. Watch that elbow.” Rubbing his side and smiling, Chuck stepped out of range. “But true, Sarah. He hates that word.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Meaning, Casey was going to be fuming over how many ways Sarah could work the word cute into a daily conversation. “You know, it’s going to be hard to imagine, being back here like this.” She studied them with the glint of wicked fun in her eyes. “The three of us going on missions, hanging out … me watching the two of you play nice together. I think I’m getting used to the idea.”

“That makes one of us,” Casey groused.

“So, uh, about this assignment?” Chuck looked at each of them in turn. His boyfriend was still glaring at Sarah for his cuteness, so he ignored that for now, turning to her fill in the blanks. “Listen, Sarah, being the good little student that I was, I don’t need it spelled out. My first thought when I saw you in the courtyard … well, I knew –”

“Hold it right there.” Sarah whirled on Casey. “You big dumbass. You didn’t tell him that either?”

“Told you. We were … busy, Walker,” Casey said, and Chuck swore he saw him stand a little taller. “It didn’t seem all that important at the time.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. In the new world order, busy had just become the euphemism of the day. 

Chuck cheeks flamed in a blush. “Okay, tell me? Tell me what exactly?”

Beside him, Sarah sighed. “This seems to be your job now, Casey. You need to be the person to tell him.”

Peeved at Walker for handing out the orders, Casey eventually turned to Chuck. “You wanted the good news first,” he said. “So now the bad news.”

“But … does there have to be bad news?” Chuck suppressed a wince at the infinite possibilities of endless shit that had to be coming next. “Really. I’m fine with the lack of negative vibes, so if you want to –”

“Walker’s back on the team.”

Chuck immediately froze. “What? But I thought you said –”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at Casey. “And how is that bad news?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to know,” Chuck added.

“Come to think of it,” Sarah went on, “Bryce dies and that’s good news, and me coming back is bad news?” She moved in toe to toe with Casey. Chuck had to admire her ballsy-ness for that. “Somehow, I think you have those two things turned around, Agent Casey.”

“I hate to be the one to point it out here, but again, Casey, she –”

“Shut it.” That was aimed at Chuck. Then the NSA agent turned back to the blonde. “Bryce is dead. One less cocky CIA agent to screw things up. How can that be bad news, Walker? And the team was running just fine the way it was, so I don’t see –”

“Sarah. What he’s trying to say is that we’re glad to have you back. Aren’t we, John?” 

Chuck shot him Boyfriend Look #17. The one that said ‘Be quiet and agree with me on this or your side of the bed will be some damn lonely square footage tonight’. Casey rolled his eyes but surprisingly got the message. Satisfied, the kid then looked at Sarah. “The only part I don’t get is that you told me –”

“I said I would never desert my team after what happened … last time … with us.” At the mention of team, she darted a glance at Casey. “That’s why I went back to Bryce. And that’s why I’m back here now. I have something to fix.”

“That’s … wow, I don’t know how I feel.” Chuck blinked, unable to believe tonight, all of it, was real. “You know … maybe I do. I feel … good. I’m with you now,” he said to Casey. “But Sarah’s my friend. And she’s back. I’m … good.”

“Glad we got the girly feelings out in the open,” Casey said under his breath. “I’m only saying this once, Walker. I expect you to pull your weight.” He tipped his head towards Chuck. “This one still gets out of the damn car, the van, the limo – you name it – and gets his scrawny ass in trouble. Needs to be pinned down from time to time –”

“I’ll leave the pinning part to you, Casey.”

“And leave the smart ass comments to me while you’re at it, eh?” 

“Wow. It feels just like home again,” Chuck commented. Seeing them together again, standing there, made him really look at them. Sturdy, resilient. Superheroes without the cool powered-armor suits or lassos. Two people who were way too pretty to be hanging out with a curly-haired nerd in Burbank. 

But for some crazy reason, they were here. With him. He’d never figure that out.

Chuck took Casey’s brawny shoulder in one hand, and Sarah’s firm one in the other and shook them gently. A three-way hug under these circumstances would be a bit dicey, though, so he dropped the idea. 

“Guys,” he said, a smile growing on his face. “The team is back together.” 

“And Walker, you need to go,” Casey said, clouding that blazing smile as easily as a bucket of water.

Chuck spun. “What? I thought we just –”

“Tonight, kid.” Casey cut the string of questions by wrapping an arm around his waist, slipping a few fingers discreetly up and under his t-shirt, and towing him until their hips touched. His boyfriend’s lips touched the tufts of hair at the back of his neck, and against his ear he said, “We haven’t talked about the cover yet. If your sister saw her here, she would –”

“Casey’s right, Chuck.” Sarah smiled up at him and shuffled back a step, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I have to go. For now. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow …. It will give us an opportunity to discuss my cover.” 

“Sounds like a blast.”

Sarah nodded once at Casey and half turned. “And boys?” she said, arching a brow. “We’re leaving early. Try to get some … sleep.”

Casey glared. “If you’re back on the team, CIA, there are gonna be a new set of rules starting tomorrow.” 

She dismissed the threat with an unconcerned look and turned to leave. “That also sounds like a blast. Good night, Chuck.”

“Wait … wait, Sarah.” Chuck angled his head around, almost knocking Casey in the jaw. “Not that I’m complaining, but please let go for a minute.” 

With reluctance, Casey let us arms fall to the side. “Make it fast.” 

“I just have to … I’ll be right back.” Chuck broke into a trot and caught up to her under the archway. “Sarah, wait a second.”

“What is it?” She looked past his shoulder, obviously to gauge Casey’s steely reaction.

“Well. This.” He couldn’t help it. Before she could move, the kid swept her up in an enthusiastic embrace, one even Eleanor Faye Bartowski would be proud of. Chuck didn’t care that he was squashing her shirt, or that her hair was tickling his nose, or that he might have stepped on her toe.

She was stiff at first, not knowing how to react. Like Casey when he found himself in an unplanned hug, giving him a long-suffering look over Ellie’s shoulder.

Well, screw that. 

“Breathing would be nice,” he heard her gasp.

Chuck stumbled backwards. “Sorry! Again, sorry,” he stammered. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, sounding a little winded. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said at length, feeling the heat of Casey’s eyes on the back of his neck. “I could always use … a new friend.”

Sarah nibbled on her bottom lip. “Me too,” she said. Then with a nod at him and another past his shoulder to Casey, she left. 

Truly bizarre. Because not for good this time.

“What was that all about?” he heard Casey say as a hand drew around him, settling on his hip.

Chuck tried not to jump. When did he move up behind him like that? “It was nothing.” The kid watched as the sensible midsized car Sarah had climbed into pulled away from the curb. “Just between friends,” he said. 

Casey grunted but let it go. “She’s gonna be pissed about the car they set her up with,” he observed.

“How long until the rental’s toast and she shows up in a Porsche?”

Casey’s eyes narrowed. “Five days. Tops.” 

“Agreed.” Chuck turned towards his boyfriend, reached out for Casey’s hand and his eyes became serious. “I wanted to let her know it would be okay, that’s all. Between us.”

Casey breathed out, obviously not wanting to hear this. “Going in?” he asked.

“Not … yet. I couldn’t sleep. I’m going to sit here a little longer. I was … thinking about a few things, that’s all, and I should probably talk to you, but –” Chuck let his voice trail off. “It can wait.”

Casey gave him an exasperated look and rubbed his hand over his face. “Oh, shit. I know that tone, Bartowski.”

“Not exactly the ringing endorsement I was going for,” Chuck deadpanned. “I got it, okay? You and me, Casey. No more secrets.”

“Something tells me I’m not going to like it.” The larger man hooked a finger into the kid’s waistband and tugged him close, claiming the distance between them. “Later. You are telling me.”

The man had a fair point. He wasn’t going to like it, so there was no sense disputing Casey’s hunch. Taking advantage of his momentary leniency, Chuck slanted his head, pressed his lips to his. 

“I promise. Later,” he said against the straying edge of Casey’s mouth. 

“Correction. I already don’t like it,” Casey replied.

“And I was always charmed by your openness to my ideas,” Chuck said, plopping down on the cushion. “But I am saving this spot for my boyfriend.” He looked up at him and waggled his brows, patting the place next to his seat. “If he’d like to stick around.”

He took the hint. No words wasted, Casey strolled around him and sat, his thighs brushing along Chuck’s cotton drawstring pants. After a second or two, a strong arm trailed along his waist, Casey’s thumb absently grazing the bare skin where the kid’s shirt rode up. The agent leaned in, pressed his lips to Chuck’s throat just below his ear, then across his cheekbone. It was nice … but what was with the sudden friskiness?

“Was I too rough on you, goddess?” Casey murmured.

“Wh-what?” Chuck’s eyes had drifted shut until that. Now his entire body tensed. “Rough?”

Casey grinned slyly against his nape and tapped the cushion. “This?”

Chuck made a face at him. With Casey’s mouth now teasing his neck, it didn’t do a lick of good. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he mumbled. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Who says it’s not going to happen again tomorrow, kid?” Casey caught his hand gently on the side of his neck, his palm curving around as he kissed the sensitive spot under his ear. “Or tonight,” he growled, touching Chuck’s jaw, his thumb at the corner of his mouth, giving a nip to his earlobe.

“You know something? Somewhere, someone is wishing they could bottle what you have,” Chuck told him. It took substantial effort to squirm out of his grasp – partly because of the scent of post-sex musk in his nose, and partly because Casey had a knack for finding that the tender spot on his neck that felt so damn good. 

“C’mon upstairs,” Casey suggested softly against the curls at his ear.

Chuck groaned. God, why did he have to be the logical one? The kid swallowed and looked away from his partner’s eyes, or it would all over.

“Casey, you heard Sarah. As much as I want to … be the boy-toy in his particular scenario you’ve dreamed up, we have to get some shut eye if we’re going to be in the car twelve hours tomorrow.” 

“Jesus.” Casey lifted his head, ending the fantastic things he was doing there, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Walker has been here thirty minutes and she’s already dictating our sex life.”

“We’ll just have to be more creative? Oh.” Hearing himself, the kid turned bright red. “Not like that. I think you’ve excelled in that department.”

“Yeah? You could use some work there.” 

“Hah. Funny.”

Casey nudged his knee. “Well, thanks to the Intersect, we have a change in plans for tomorrow.” He was quiet for a minute, stroking his knuckles lazily along the kid’s lower belly, then down to his hip, fingers digging in firmly. “I’m heading to Castle at oh five hundred for a work-out before we leave. Walker being here makes me want to punch something,” he mumbled to himself. “The heavy bag will have to suffice.”

“Five o’clock? As in the morning?” Chuck sputtered, his wide brown eyes pleading with him. The kid could not wrap his mind around exercise at that ungodly hour. “But you don’t need me to be there –”

“Cool it, cupcake. Not this time.” Casey sat back, mulling it over. “You can sleep in.”

“Wow.” Though it was risky, Chuck didn’t even attempt to hold back a sarcastic salute. “Thanks, Major.” 

“And when I get back, I’ll have to find a way to wake you up.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Chuck worked to keep a straight face. “In your plan, I get to sleep in and avoid an apparatus that was invented by Lucifer on a slow day in hell –”

“It’s called a free weight machine and I said this time you get to sleep in, tiger –”

“– and when you get back, hopped up on post-exercise adrenaline, you plan on … using me for a sexual outlet to release pent-up endorphins?”

Casey thought about it while gently scrubbing a large hand over Chuck’s thigh, then spread it over his knee. Still rubbing. 

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“Well ….” Chuck regarded his lover for a minute. The grin gave everything away. “I think I can suffer through it.” 

“Suffer, eh.” 

The fist on his shirtfront, twisting the fabric and yanking, caused the kid to tense – until he realized it was only to move his mouth over his, fitting it perfectly in a kiss. It wasn’t the blast furnace of heat, the hard possession he’d felt all night and expected. Out of nowhere, this one was soft, tentative; a caress of lips, savoring the taste, almost speaking without words. 

Somehow, that made it slightly hotter. Goosebumps rolled across his skin at the touch. Chuck tilted his head, opening his lips, offering more than he should after what they had just agreed to, but Casey’s tongue was gently prodding, giving him a little coax –

“Hey. Chuck, is that you – Oh. Sorry.”

It was sudden enough to make even Casey jolt the tiniest bit. And Chuck could tell by the way his boyfriend had stiffened against him that he really didn’t expect to deal with Ellie Bartowski tonight.

“Ellie. What are you – hey, uh, we’re just hanging out here.” Looking away, both men tried to unnoticeably swipe the backs of their hands over their mouths. Embarrassment flooded the kid, though Casey managed to look only slightly perturbed by the interruption. 

“I can see that.” She glanced past them to the flickering small fire, casting an orange glow along their profiles. “It’s a … nice night, isn’t it?”

“Sure … sure it is.” Chuck pushed a hand through his hair and, looking up, gave her an awkward smile. “We were just commenting on how nice it is out here tonight. Weren’t we, Casey.”

“Hi, John.”

“Ellie,” Casey replied, nodding politely.

Oh, hell. Commenting? In what language does commenting mean groping? Because unless Ellie was suddenly blinded, she may notice that one of Casey’s hands was still resting on his inner thigh, not to mention his own hand had made it half-way up Casey’s shirt before Ellie barged in. The shirt, which was now rucked up to his stomach, revealed a nice patch of dark hair trailing down his chest, past his belly button and lower – God. 

“Nice … fire,” Ellie said, blushing. 

Perfect. Another reason he wanted to die on the spot. If that wasn’t enough, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Casey guiltily dragging his shirt down. 

“It’s late. What’re you doing out here?” Since it was obvious what they were doing.

Turning the question to her allowed both men get a good look at the second woman who had waylaid them tonight. Ellie stood off to the side, wearing her plain cotton scrubs and a handbag over her shoulder. Car keys dangled from one hand, while she carried a plastic trash bag in the other. 

“My shift starts in forty-five minutes,” she said while her eyes roved over to Casey, “and this bag smells from the fish we had for dinner, so I wanted to drop if off in the bin on my way out. 

“Trash?” Chuck started to get up from his seat. “I can get that, sis.” 

“No, no. Sit.” When he immediately complied, she put her hands on her hips in a way that meant she was sticking around for another minute or two. Next to him, he felt curves of muscles tighten under Casey’s shirt. “Did you have a … good evening? The dinner was okay?” She managed to sound nonchalant, though the kid could see she was nearly vibrating under her skin. “Did John like … everything?”

As a non-answer, Casey made a deep rumble in his chest, only audible to his boyfriend. The kid was quite proud that he translated it flawlessly. 

Not now. Get rid of her.

“Dinner was … nice,” Casey said.

“I’m … I can’t wait to hear –” 

Chuck braced himself. The dam was getting ready to bust. “Sis, maybe this isn’t the time –”

“Oh, look at you two! Making out like teenagers. Your first real fight – and you worked it out. I’m so proud of you!”

“Ellie, we – ah!” 

This was, of course, too late. Like a giant mother bear, his big sister leaned down and wrapped her arms around their broad shoulders in a dual hug, squeezing them with all her might. “It’s the first step in open communication, little brother, and I’m –”

“Going to be late for work?” Chuck finished, his voice muffled against her shoulder. He turned his head to see how his boyfriend was faring, and the kid almost laughed. Casey’s eyes bulged wide and it had never occurred to him to return the hug, since his arms were rigid at his side “Ellie. A little help here? We can’t breathe so well.”

“Oh my God.” One last squeeze and she stepped back, looking between them with a determined expression. “I have to go. Oh, wait. One more thing. Chuck?”

“Yeah?” Chuck looked up, confused by her change in tone.

“Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” he echoed, shifting uncomfortably because evidently they had discussed this.

She squinted down at him, her jaw set. “You forgot.”

“Uh, well, I’ve had a lot –”

“Dinner. Six p.m. My treat.” Her gaze traveled to Casey, looking him over as she searched for a response. His boyfriend looked back at her and shrugged in agreement, until Ellie added, “Both of you. Remember?”

Both? Right on cue, Casey sat up taller and started to open his mouth, until Chuck derailed him with a tiny amount of pressure on his knee. 

To the kid’s amazement, that actually worked. Twice in one night had to be a record of some sort. Casey turned his head, now to glare daggers at him, but said nothing. 

“Sure, sis. That’s right.” He still had no clue, but it seemed to appease her. “Where are we meeting?”

“Here. I’m driving.” She jangled her car keys. 

“Where are we going?”

“Cortina’s. It’s a new place on Kent I’ve wanted to try. Just dress casually.” Ellie peeked at her watch. “Oh, I’ve got to saddle up. Bye. Love you.” She flashed a smile and winked. “Bye, John.”

“Okay. It’s a date sis.” His hand tightened on Casey’s knee to quell the growly sound. “Love you. Drive safely,” he called after her.

When Ellie vanished around the corner, Casey put his palm over Chuck’s, still resting on his thigh, and clenched his fingers. Hard.

“What the fuck,” he said deadly quiet, “was that all about?”

“First. Ow. Kindly move your hand.” 

With one last clench to convey his displeasure, Casey begrudgingly let go of him. “Talk,” he ordered, centering his eyes six inches from Chuck’s.

“Uh, what … what do you mean, swee – oh.”

“You know something. I saw the look.”

“I have a look?” One of his brows disappeared under an unruly lock. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You did that thing, Bartowski.” Casey draped a firm hand around his bicep, one that said he wasn’t getting out of this until he answered the questions. “Don’t give me that look, either. You know.”

“Okay, this is getting confusing.”

“Your forehead crinkles … and your eyes tighten at the corners. C’mon, champ, I’ve seen it a thousand times. Your nerd brain is working overtime right now.”

“It is kinda cute how you notice those things.” Chuck swatted out with an arm to protect himself just in case the cute put him over the edge, and had to cringe when the grip tightened. “Really, though, it’s a mystery. It just sounded familiar, but I haven’t been able to place it yet.”

“Sounds goddamn suspicious,” Casey rumbled, scooting back into the spot where their hips touched. “Your sister gives me willies sometimes, the way she keeps sticking her nose ––”

“Okay. Several things. One, the willies? What is that exactly?” Though he damn well knew. And resenting that a bit, the kid reached up and grazed the bare curve of his neck, brushing slowly with his thumb as he spoke. “And next, she’s not sticking her nose in anything –”

“Heh.”

“Well, maybe she is, but she’s only doing it to help,” Chuck said, letting his hand drift down his boyfriend’s chest. “Her intentions are good; they’re just a little off, that’s all. I mean, when you high tailed it to Costa Rica right before the wedding, –”

“On a mission –”

“– she tried to – oh … Oh, no.” 

“What?”

Chuck’s palm froze in the middle of making small circles down his lover’s chest, and his stomach twisted itself inside out. “Oh, no. She wouldn’t,” he gasped. “No, no, no – Oh, God.” 

Casey just stared at him. “What the hell is that look?”

“It’s … uh ….” His voice cracked under the weight of the realization. “Oh, shit.”

“If you don’t start talking –”

Chuck placed his hand, shaking ever so slightly, on Casey’s muscly forearm and swallowed hard. “I …uh, well, I –”

“Talk.”

“I think we’re going to Couples Group Therapy,” he blurted.

“What the fu –” Casey caught his wrist, making him look up, not that he didn’t already sense his boyfriend’s eyes getting dark and dangerous. Then a string of not-so-nice curses turned the air blue. Something about his fine Polish lineage, his ancestors, and the Bartowski female gene pool that had originated in the swamps of Hades, according to the mid-to-end of string of colorful epitaphs.

Boy, Casey could spit out curses like bullets when he set his mind to it.

“Before you get mad,” Chuck broke in, palms coming up, “hear me out, because –”

“Before I get mad?” Casey stopped him dead in his tracks. “Let me tell ya something, princess, mad was five minutes ago when you’re big sister decided to –”

“Which I do get.” Chuck shot him the puppy-dog eyes that usually did the trick in these circumstances. “Honestly. It’s not my fault, and if you would just do me a tiny favor … not look at me like that, I can explain.” Casey watched the kid’s hand, eyes full of distrust, while it traveled up his chest, rubbing between his pecs in a way meant to pacify. When that was doing jack shit, the Chuck leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Can you listen for once?”

“Can you cut the crap? Because I gotta tell you, sport, right now, that’s not gonna work with me.”

Chuck frowned. “Maybe … not this time.” 

“Were the last words out of your mouth – before your pathetic attempt to distract me – … God, I can’t even say it.”

“Couples Group Therapy,” Chuck offered up weakly. 

Casey seemed to close his eyes and count to five. Which was progress in itself in some sideways mixed-up way, right there, wasn’t it?

“Start talking.” The threat was delivered with a clamp on his wrist. “You have exactly one minute to let me in on this secret.” 

“I should warn you, you’re going to hate this.” And more urgently, was there a way he could say this without getting strung up by a body part he had come to cherish, now that he was actually getting some use out of it? 

“We’re way past that, too, muffin.”

Oh, hell. Chuck buried his head in his hands. “We’re being kidnapped on Tuesday after dinner,” he said. “Dinner is just a decoy – no, I mean Ellie will take us to dinner, but after dinner, she’s taking us to the Hillsides Community Center.”

“And do I even want to know why you know this?” Casey asked.

He kept talking into his hands, because looking at Casey right now would probably singe him to the hearth. For good.

“She … talked about it when you were gone. The unexplained disappearance to military training? When you, uh, fled right before the wedding?” The kid cringed at his own stupid word choice, but there was no turning back now. “Even when you were supposed to be home that week, joining in all of the pre-wedding craziness with the rest of us.”

“It was a mission,” Casey said, sounding defensive.

“This is Ellie, John.” Chuck lifted his head and rested his elbows on his knees, fidgeting with his hands. “She didn’t see it that way. Ellie thought you were, well, skittish I guess about making a commitment ... and the wedding only seemed to …. Geez, okay, she thought that was why you left so suddenly.” Chuck then continued under his breath. “Why you left me here and ran.” 

Chuck watched his lover’s face, the tense jaw, and he swore he heard some teeth grinding. 

“You know something, Bartowski? There are a lot of days I hate your family.” Casey stooped down to pick up a small pebble by his foot. He rolled it in his hands a few times before tossing it side-arm into the fountain. “Still haven’t explained why you think –”

“We’re being kidnapped?” Chuck reached over with a skinny stick he had picked up to poke the fire, creating a burst of sparks. “You want to hear it. Well, here goes. One evening that week … well, McClure was here,” the kid stopped to roll his eyes at the name, “and Ellie came to the door to bring dinner over for me.”

“Your big sister was making dinner for you while I was gone.” Casey snorted. “Jesus, kid.”

“Hey. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask her to.” He’d already told her she didn’t need to baby him. “She knew that if you weren’t home, there would be no decent food for dinner, and she didn’t want me to get food poisoning from Taco Bell the week of the wedding. That’s all.”

“And the Community Center?” Leaning back, Casey stretched his mile-long legs out in front of him. Damn.

Chuck blinked. “Oh. When she brought the dinner over – it was her garlic roasted chicken and vegetables –”

“Skip this part.”

“Annnd no dinner details,” Chuck replied, mustering up enough courage to look at him. “There was a … brochure with the container. One of those folded flyers …?

“I know what a goddamn brochure is, Bartowski.”

“Wow. Okay, then.” Damn it, just get it over with. Chuck slumped back against the edge of the fireplace, mirroring Casey’s move by stretching his legs out along his. “The brochure was for a group therapy class … for couples. So, if you want to break something – not me, please – I’ll stop here for the expected carnage.” 

Casey looked away. This is when he would ruthlessly kick a hole in a wall, or slam his fist through Mrs. Kemp’s plaster statue of Aphrodite next to her potted hibiscus. Had to be. But after a minute, he rubbed his eyes in exasperation and nudged the kid’s foot with his own. 

“You’re only making it worse, sport.” He kept it where they were casually touching – and as the man’s caress drifted over his heel, Chuck had to ask himself why didn’t he notice Casey had left the apartment barefoot to find him? “Just finish it.”

The feel of bare skin there made it okay to go on. “Ellie mentioned that a nurse at the hospital … well, she said there was something we should think about at least.” 

“Just so I got this straight, did you tell me a few minutes ago that your sister isn’t meddling?”

Point. Chuck scratched his cheek distractedly as he recalled that night in the courtyard. Casey shipped off to Central America while he was stuck in Burbank with the second biggest asshole ever employed by the NSA – hey, the one in the top position had grown on him over time – and his sister with that patented ‘I’m concerned about you again, little brother’ expression standing at his door holding dinner.

“The woman told Ellie that her sister led a … certain class we might be interested in.” 

“A … class,” said with the same disdain he reserved for Obamacare.

“Ellie flipped the pamphlet in front of my face – it said something about the group being a … safe holding environment.” Freaking out a little, Chuck lifted his hands to make air quotes. “An avenue to express ourselves through vignettes and open-ended –”

“Fuck. Me. Running,” he heard Casey mutter as cold as death.

“And there it is.” Chuck rolled his eyes at him. “I know it’s a completely unwanted intervention and a misfire of epic proportions, but just keep this in mind?”

“What,” Casey said without asking, giving him a glare.

Time to do this. In an unhurried move, he dragged one of his toes along the inner curve of Casey’s arch, swishing up and down to tickle him. Because he could, and because he wanted to, Chuck then brought a hand up to his taut nape, digging into muscles below his palm. The stubborn bastard didn’t move, even as he went down the wide expanse of his back, sweeping circles, gently kneading until he dipped to his lower back. That had to feel good, right? 

Chuck wet his lips, choosing his words with precision. “She thinks that you may have a … teensy … minor, really, issue with communication –”

Casey grunted, displeasure mingling with shut the hell up.

“I know, but hear me out on this,” Chuck replied, and the kid had to bite down on the inside of his mouth to stop the ironic smile. “Ellie only wants to help. You have to know her intentions are from the heart, Casey. She only does these things because … of the way she feels about us. Both of us. Ellie considers you family now, too.” He took one of his boyfriend’s large hands and enclosed it in his, joggling it a little. Saying this was easier if he had something strong to hang onto. “The way … I do.”

Though he knew he was risking hurt of having Casey pull away right then, Chuck held on. And Casey let him, turning his wrist and curling his fingers, the pad of his thumb swishing back and forth over his flesh. Bare skin to skin. The kid was grateful that it was just them and the silence of the night, the dark sky and the kindle of flames. 

Until Casey let out a feral noise that had started in his chest. “Tuesday,” he said. “Three days, genius. You have three whole days to figure out how to get us out of this.” The grip tightened, going from something pleasant to the fringe of uncomfortable. “Do not talk about it. Do not try to use those fucking brown eyes on me to convince me we need to do this. You talk to your sister, work it out. End of story.” Casey brought his other hand up steer Chuck’s face around to look at him. “Got it?”

“Just one clarification …. Does this mean dinner is out of the question?”

His eyes lingered over Chuck’s wheedling half-smile before relenting with a small nod. “Dinner. Only dinner. If that Prius of hers turns down any road besides the one that takes us home –”

“You’ll kick my ass. Understood.” Chuck shook his head at the empty threat and started to peel Casey’s fingers away. He decided to press his luck, tugging him forward to lay a light kiss on his mouth, then drifting down, lips brushed his skin at the slope of his neck. “You really want to be mad at me now?”

Casey let out a breath. “God, you are a pain in the ass,” he griped, sweeping his strong sure fingers up and down Chuck’s ribcage, along the outside of his cotton t-shirt. “Why I let you get away with this shit … though, I am surprised you’d be able to face your sister … after that.”

In spite of the firm yet comfortable place his head rested, Chuck could feel his own shoulders tightening at the fact Casey said that with a stamp of humor. 

“What are you talking about,” he asked, raising his head to give him a questioning look. 

The last of the flames were slowly dying out, hardly casting more than the golden glow of a candle, but he could still see the sly smile beginning to curl on Casey’s lip.

“You didn’t hear it?” The agent tipped his head in the direction Ellie had taken.

“Hear what?” Whatever it was, Casey appeared to be quashing a laugh. What the hell? Momentarily forgetting about a make-out session with his boyfriend in front of the fire, Chuck’s eyes fell on a face in sheer amusement. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” Casey snickered. “I just hope next time you remember to shut the window, tiger, because apparently geeky-screechy voices carry across the courtyard –”

“So? I’m usually careful about –” Just then, his copiousness of brain cells kicked in, zinging him with a God-awful thought. “Oh no.”

To confirm the worse, Casey grinned. “Saddle up? Hotshot?” He shrugged. “The wink was a nice touch, too. Hell, maybe your sister isn’t the up-tight bit – lady I always thought she was.”

“Tell me she didn’t say that. Wait. Did you just almost call my sister a –”

“I know how you feeling about lying, Bartowski, so I’m keeping mum on this one.” 

“Laughing doesn’t count as mum, and neither does that look on your face,” Chuck said, stopping to scrub his forehead. “I’ll never live this down.”

Casey rested an arm behind the kid while that deep laugh of his bubbled up. “I wonder how long it takes to forget something like that. When your sweet little brother demands to be ridden hard? Gotta be months, eh?”

“This is Ellie,” Chuck corrected, lifting his head as he felt Casey’s hand slide up to wrap around his waist. “Years. Can we change the subject one more time?”

Casey let out another low chuckle as he settled back against the outer jamb of the fireplace. “Bring your bony ass over here.” Without waiting, he pulled him over close, until Chuck felt the press of a long hard line of shoulders and thighs against his. “Need somewhere comfortable to rest my shoulder. Not this damn thing.”

“Boy, I can’t believe I fell victim to your charm.” But he couldn’t help it, he relaxed into the familiar contact points rippling between them. “And it’s not bony.”

“Heh.” According to that noise, it was. Casey looped a finger in his waistband and drew it along the elastic to the back. It stayed there, soothing, as if his boyfriend wanted to feel skin, though he’d never own up to the need. After a long moment of comfortable silence, he let out a breath. “All right, kid, now that I’m wide awake –”

“Did I say I’m sorry for that?”

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m not going to like?”

“I thought you said later.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Lucky me.” Chuck tilted his head back and looked up at the night sky, knowing that Casey was like a bulldog with bacon when he was on to something. “Okay, here it is: I screwed up last time when I wasn’t completely honest … when I kept a secret from you?”

He remembered. No doubt. There was no mistaking the current in the long body pressed to his. 

“Just get it out, Bartowski. This shit doesn’t get better with age.”

Chuck picked up another thin stick and twiddled with it between his fingers. “I’m going to contact Orion … well, my dad … again,” he said. “I want you to know up front. No more sneaking around.” Tentatively, the kid lifted a foot and set it on Casey’s ankle, linking them together. “I should’ve trusted you the last time. To tell you that.”

Instantly, Casey snatched the twig out of his hand and tossed it into the fire. “Christ,” he growled.

Chuck blew a sigh at the response, but in reality, what did he expect? “You’re mad about that, too. I get it, okay?” he said. “I don’t have an answer … yet. I don’t know how to get rid of the Intersect and ensure that we’re going to be safe. But I know the answer is out there. We have to find it.”

Looking straight ahead and not at him, Casey twisted away from the kid. “And you think somehow, with you two geniuses working on the case, there’s a –”

“No.” Chuck turned to him, ran his hand over his back, feeling the smooth layers of wiry-tense muscles under his palm. “Three,” he said, exerting some pressure so that Casey would know he wanted to look at him. 

“The old man hates me. Thinks I’m everything he hid from.”

“Hate’s a strong word. Let’s just call it healthy distrust – for now,” Chuck said, throwing him a wan smile. “It has to be the three of us, Casey. I want you to be part of this … well, for a million reasons,” and he stopped to brush his hand along the top of Casey’s thigh, “but for the logical reasons, you’re the one who’s been on the inside for twenty years. We need you.” Jostling his knee, he couldn’t help but add, “I need you, okay?”

“Jesus.” Casey rested his head back on the stone surface, closing his eyes. “There is no right answer here.”

Recognizing he had caved, Chuck beamed a grin at him and leaned in to kiss the edge of his mouth. “Ursa Major, Orion … I think between a Great Bear, a Hunter, and a Nerd – which really does need its own constellation if you think about it – well, we’re going to figure it out.”

Casey grunted. “If I don’t shoot your dad before this is over.”

The smile dimmed some. “Alarming, yes, but somewhere in that threat was acquiescence.”

“Call it a reluctant settlement, cause I sure as hell don’t acquiesce.” Casey finally turned towards him, that piercing ice-blue stare at full throttle. “Have you already –”

“Uh, no … promise. I only asked our assistant store manager, who also happens to be my other life mate –”

“Eh.”

“– if he could arrange the schedule for both of us to have Thursday off,” Chuck said. He latched onto Casey’s large hand resting on his leg, twined his long fingers through his. “Dad gave me a way to contact him … and he told Ellie and me how to find him, too.”

Casey squeezed his fingers. “Just tell me how far, will ya?” he mumbled, totally resigned.

Chuck picked up another stick, leaned back into his shoulder. His boyfriend, sitting there stretched out and a little rumpled from the sleep, looked so good it almost hurt.

“We’ll have to be on the road early that day. Oh, does the Vic have a second gear? For downshifting … in the mountains?”

“The Vic can handle it.” Casey lifted his ankle to gently tap Chuck’s bare foot still resting on his. He was careful not to knock it off completely, Chuck noticed. “One rule,” the agent said, turning to give him a hard look.

“What’s that?”

“Keep your daddy the hell away from me,” Casey told him. “If we’re going to work together, that’s the only rule you need to know.”

“Together? It seems … like a contradiction, doesn’t it?”

But only in Casey’s world did this make perfect sense. “You’re the genius. Figure it out.”

Rationality told him that was impossible. The mulish look told him that was non-negotiable.

“All right, then. Guess I have to figure out a way to keep dad at bay,” Chuck said, shifting his foot to rub Casey’s ankle. “Can we go inside now? One of us is exercising in the morning.”

“You forget the plan already, brainiac?” Casey copped a feel by steering his twined hand down lower. “Both of us are.”

“Like you’d let me forget?” Chuck replied petulantly, working at untangling his fingers. From the look on his face, Casey wasn’t planning on letting go right then, but eventually he did. And when Chuck pulled free, he scooped up Bryce’s card from the stone hearth. “I’m … I want to keep this.” He flipped it around, studying it thoughtfully for just a second. “So before you tell me you’d prefer not to have any Bryce mementos around –”

“– Or ever hear that name uttered again.”

“– Try to remember he was my best friend in college,” Chuck said, “and he did try to save me.”

Casey stood. When Chuck latched onto a belt loop to pull himself up – Casey made a hell of an anchor, after all – his boyfriend’s hand slid around his bicep, keeping him close. He let his fingers trail upward, leaning in until his lips grazed brown curls, then the sensitive outer edge of his ear, sending a heated shudder through Chuck’s limbs. The way he could do it with just that touch.

“Not Bryce. It wasn’t him,” Casey breathed against the side of his neck. “Your own damn willfulness and smarts … you saved yourself.” He brushed his cheek along the line of his jaw. “Don’t you forget that.” 

The kid stared. Was that a compliment from the lips of John Casey? For once, a nerd who was born with an abundance of words and protestations was struck speechless. Compliments never settled well on the kid, like a suit that felt it belonged to a larger person. Not Chuck Bartowski. So the younger man flashed an awkward smile and looked down, stuffing the card in his wallet.

Just as a crumpled piece of paper slipped out of the billfold, fluttering to the ground.

-x-

Casey watched the kid stoop down, the lean muscles of his back stretched over the thin cotton, and grab the paper. First looking at the small note with his brows wrinkled – the way he studied something with those damn deep eyes of his – the uneasy smile Casey had observed countless times lifted just the corner of his mouth. 

What the hell was that? 

Wasn’t it his right as the kid’s handler – okay, boyfriend – to know what was written there? Something that could put such a distant place in his eyes? 

That prickling sensation at the back his neck, the one that he had relied on for years, relayed the unequivocal answer.

Hell, yes, it was his right.

With no warning, Casey snatched the paper from his hand and squinted at it. “A … list, Bartowski? Grocery shopping for your sister now?” he asked. Huh. Not a grocery list. Holding it up between two fingers, he gave it a little wave. “What is this?”

“Not until you give it back,” Chuck said, spreading his palm flat, and obviously waiting for him to hand it over. “Then I’ll tell you.”

Dammit. He should not feel guilty about taking that from him. Not after that little stunt with the old man. 

Chuck’s brown eyes widened and he waggled his fingers at him. “Come on,” he said. 

Shit.

Frowning at him, Casey shook his head – more at his own concession than anything – and slapped it back into his hand. “There. Happy now?” The agent had been under the impression that he’d done a far better job of keeping track of his boyfriend lately – before the kid even knew he was gonna get lost. But the laundry list of disconnected items important enough to think he was going to keep hidden was a mystery. “Care to explain, sunshine? Taking a trip?” 

Chuck’s face was serious as he stared at the paper in his hand for a few seconds. “You don’t remember at all, do you? Though, I can’t say I don’t blame you,” he said. Standing there so close, his dark eyes were tidal pools against the night and the light from the fire. Deep enough to get lost in if he wasn’t more careful. 

Casey raised himself and shook his head. “Explain it.”

“In Sterling … I wasn’t in any shape – let’s face it – to be of any good to any one, and you were a fugitive.” Casey felt him dig his fingers digging gently into his arm. “I don’t blame you.”

Too much openness there in his face. Casey looked down. “What am I forgetting?”

“My list.” Chuck waved it once and folded it, sliding it back in his wallet. “The twenty-five … things I want to do before … and I’ve only done two so far. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

It was hard to think or respond when the man in front of him called himself pathetic. It shouldn’t bother him or matter, but Casey had left that bend in the road months ago. It pissed him off. There were no words. 

Fuck it. Casey leaned down and kissed him, one hand drifting around the kid’s middle, holding him close enough to share the same shadow. 

“I seem to remember something about teaching a horse to read,” he replied, dropping two fingers under the cotton drawstring pants one more time. Why not? They were right there.

Chuck edged backwards, smiling broadly. “You do remember.” Moving fast for a damn nerd, the kid caught hold of his arm. Casey wasn’t certain what he should do, but it was … okay to let him keep his hand there. Chuck ended up pressing it tighter to his waist, his grip curled around Casey’s forearm, his thumb sliding over his bare skin in a smooth caress. “You don’t have to read it, you know.”

“More secrets, eh?” Casey asked, jabbing him gently with the elbow, felt an outline of a rib.

“No. No more secrets.” Being brash, the kid cupped his face, threaded his fingers through the short but messy hair at the side of his head. That smile of his came back. “You won’t need to because you’ll be with me for every one of these.”

Something twisted inside of him. Like a heart made of stone caving in. 

He should just say it. 

Just get it the fuck over with and move on. 

Damn it. No. Okay, maybe not.

Instead, he heard himself say, “Disneyland had better not be in that piece of paper, Bartowski. I don’t do tea cups or Small Worlds.”

“Luckily for you’ve, I’ve been to the Happiest Place on Earth –”

“– twice tonight alone.”

Chuck’s eyebrows rose so high they almost became one with his hairline. Casey was pleased by that. 

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” he faltered. “It’s not one of the locales on the list.”

“Darn,” Casey mock-grumbled, then smirked. “What is?”

The kid’s eyes went wider. More than a little. “Does this mean you’re coming with me?”

Casey ignored the cheap shot this time. He did, however, use the opportunity to adjust his arm, pulling him until he felt his hip rub against his. 

“What kind of a handler would I be, kid, if I let my asset go traipsing to hell and back without going with him?”

“Point,” Chuck agreed, blushing when he felt what he had to feel. Being this close, it took no effort for the kid to bend in and brush his lips to his. He liked it when Chuck initiated it, grew a pair. Casey closed his eyes at the touch of warmth and wetness, trying to catch his lips in a kiss as he grazed his mouth over his. 

But Chuck pulled back, a mischievous grin crossing his face. 

“Now what?” Casey asked.

“Is there a telescope at Castle?”

“A telescope.” Hell. The way the kid’s mind worked, it could be anything. He told himself to just go along with it. “I think I could scrounge one up,” Casey replied. “Why?”

“You’ll find out. But you have to wait until August. Oh, and a tent?”

His sharp eye caught the way thoughts were swimming under the surface of the kid’s face. “Anything else you need the government to rustle up for you with tax-payer dollars? You have your Christmas list ready too, I suppose?”

“Hah. But one of us has to have a list. And let’s face it, it has to be me.” 

“Yeah? Do I even want to know?” Who gives a damn tonight? Sometimes there was enough misery in those brown eyes to stab through a weaker heart than his – not his – but tonight, it was something else.

“You’ve done everything.” Chuck peered at him appreciatively, practically awestruck at the thought. “You’ve been everywhere … and though you never talk about it, I’m going to bet you’ve seen everything there is to see. Probably things you wish you’ve never seen.” Trailing a hand on Casey’s waist, he leaned forward, pressed his warm lips to his again. Wet and heat mingling with an ache, in a good, stupid way. “Which means, since you don’t have a list, mine will have to do.”

He always was the most perceptive little shit he had met.

But he was wrong about that. 

There was one thing he had never done. 

He had traveled to Wonsan in the hold of a freighter ship. Lost twelve pounds, all his money on the one-way trip, and almost lost more when they cut through the eye of hurricane. He patrolled Mekong Delta in a rubber raft outfitted with MK16s so that two unlucky relief workers could be reacquired and get back home. In the cave complex of Zwahar Kili, his team destroyed enemy munitions bound for a Taliban stronghold. 

In the kid’s eyes, he had done it all. Given everything.

Save, of course, for the one very small thing. 

It was tucked away. A smooth circle of metal, round and cool and endless, resting like a weight the size of a boulder in his back pocket. The band was safe where it was. 

Five weeks. Hell, he’d basically fled like a fugitive that Sunday morning, packing a small bag of balled-up clothing and several large duffels of fire power. Five weeks, since he left carrying it like a fucking idiot. Even when he found the perfect body heat and real … and human.

He should just give it to him. Tonight. Here. 

“Hey.” Splaying his hand over Casey’s shirt, Chuck gave him a puzzled smile. He clinched his fingers into his forearm and brought up his hand playfully, kissed his palm. “What’s that look on your face?” Chuck stared in confusion. “Is something wrong?” 

Casey looked at him and that crazy-ass hair that he had slept on sideways before getting up an hour ago. The kid’s concerned smile, the warm, long fingers on his chest, and his gaze only reasserted the decision. It was going to happen.

Shit. He should leave it in his pocket for now. Just to be safe. 

“Nothing.” As Casey closed the gap to taste the lips that had teased him, Chuck’s fingers flexed and dug in at his chest, that strong urgent way he had of telling him it was okay, that the shy heart was all his.

Not tonight. It won’t be tonight. Probably not tomorrow, either. 

One last place John Casey had never ventured.

But soon. It would happen before long.

 

That, he knew.

 

The End

-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First, some people to thank. 
> 
> I finally have figured out that I write because I have to, but the chance to share these stories with you takes the experience to the outer limits of joy. The fact that readers stop by or let me know they’ve had fun on our travels has kept me posting these publicly, no matter how scary the exposure to the inner workings. I want to send a shout out thanks and love to those of you who took the time to comment and have been with the boys and I on this long trek from the beginning. 
> 
> Finally, there are no words to express my thanks to my beta reader and friend, asphaltcowgrrl. She jumped on this crazy train five years ago and has been my rock of support for the long haul. She listens to my rants, head banging, angst, and more importantly, shares laughs with me. When I need a kick in the pants, she somehow finds the perfect article or blog to send along. Our ‘conversations’ on fandoms, men – heh – Zach’s hair, MB, Common Law porn, Casey’s elusive emotions, political agendas, and just life in general, wrapped around our reflections on the craft of story-telling, are a gift. As is she.
> 
> So, now what?
> 
> I'm gradually getting all of my work posted here on AO3. I know some readers are leery of AUs, but I hope I've written one in a way to make you forget that and enjoy the boys being the boys. I should start posting that in the next few weeks.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this!
> 
> -skye


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